Glimpse The Tempest
by Athena G
Summary: In a world full of magic and emotion is it possible to see the physical bonds of love? Follow Minerva's journey of magic, love and war as she discovers that her relationship with Dumbledore goes deeper than either of them realise. ADMM.
1. PART 1: Observe the Incomprehensible

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any (aside from a few originals in later chapters) of these characters. Their creation and fate is in the hands of JK Rowling.

**PART ONE**

_**Observe the Incomprehensible**_

_December 1976_

It was all seen and heard from the Gryffindor tower.

The fifty one year old transfiguration teacher stormed out into the frosty grounds without so much as a glance at the equally frustrated person blasting from the castle behind her. Dumbledore had always said that magic leaves traces that an accomplished wizard can detect. The scene before the twelve students of Gryffindor who had stayed behind for the Christmas holidays, gave them a hint of what he was referring to. Although no magic had yet been conducted, even the students who were not by the windows could sense that something was happening. Each of the students, save a few first years who had not been around magic for long, felt an unusual tingle crawl up their backs making them twitch suddenly, all becoming uncomfortably straight-backed. Some kind of terrific energy from outside seemed to be invading their common room, and as curious glances were exchanged, people of the different years bewilderingly made their way to the windows facing the grounds of Hogwarts below.

Neither of the two figures below were running, and though both were walking speedily it appeared as though there was no desperate rush, as there seemed to be no destination.

"Professor McGonagall." The voice of Albus Dumbledore, louder than usual, sailed up to the high tower and met the ears of each curious student. They watched on as their transfiguration professor stopped short, her hands clenched into tight fists by her side - one, the students narrowly saw, was clasped tightly around a wand.

The Headmaster advanced defiantly in the direction of his deputy as she, like a flash, turned to face the figure striding ever closer. He stopped about four metres from her. A tremendous silence had fallen in the common room as each student strained to catch the words emerging from their professors' lips. As intently as they listened however, it was only the transfiguration professor's words they heard; from their headmaster all that reached their ears was a deep rumble.

"You are being completely unreasonable," Professor McGonagall barked in response to the low rumble heard from the Headmaster; her body was visibly tense and seeming to be in desperate need of bursting. The low rumble was heard once again.

"I will not go along with this, Albus," snapped the professor sharply, thrusting her wand back into her pocket. An odd thing to do, the students thought, though maybe she does not trust herself to hold back from cursing him if it is there in her hand.

"You will do as I order you to, Professor," thundered Dumbledore, his voice suddenly clearly audible to the students listening attentively as its volume rose with his anger.

"How dare you," spat Professor McGonagall in a dangerously low but phenomenally forceful voice.

"Look at the ground," one of the third year Gryffindors called out, astonished.

Each and every eye of the Gryffindor students lowered to the ground their two professors were standing on, and all widened in amazement. A glow was emerging from the surface of the grass and lay like a thick blanket of gently swirling, sparkling, golden particles between and around Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall.

"Find another way, Dumbledore," continued Professor McGonagall in the same furious tone.

As the argument persisted, the momentum of the swirling glow increased and its mass grew bigger and brighter, like billowing smoke in an escalating blaze.

"There _is_ no other way," Dumbledore fumed.

An awful vibration suddenly began making the air itself tremble around the couple in the grounds. The ever increasing glowing mass was now swirling vigorously as high as their knees and had begun to circle their robes causing the material to rustle as if caught up in a current of air.

"Don't _say _that!" Professor McGonagall replied with rage. "There is _always_ another way!"

The fast motion of the glow continued, and then, all of a sudden, the students saw it split itself in half in the middle of their two teachers. One half began rapidly drawing a swirling ring of light around Dumbledore, and the other, mimicking it, circled Professor McGonagall, its high-speed spinning glow surrounding her.

"Why can't you understand that that simply is not the case here?" Dumbledore boomed back.

None of the students had any clue as to what was happening or about to happen, and continued to watch as their two professors stood in the grounds each now within a tube of spinning light, possibly as much as two metres in width, now reaching their mid-thigh. It seemed however, judging by the taut expressions on their professor's faces, which were now entirely visible because of the light encircling them, that neither was perturbed by the seemingly random appearance of these now separately glowing and fast- whirling energy fields.

"Because there _is_ another way," retorted Professor McGonagall, and as all her emphatic frustration was forced into that one tiny middle word, the golden swirls burst into red lightning-like streaks, spinning faster and faster, encompassing her up to her waste. The students in the tower could now hear a sharp hum that had arisen together with the red streaks around their professor.

"I will not go through this with you again, Minerva." Dumbledore's angry warning exploded through the grounds but his circle kept its silent golden glow.

"You don't have choice," Professor McGonagall snapped back. "I will not accept your - totally _irrational _decision."

"You _have_ to accept it," Dumbledore bellowed, this time causing his own golden, spiralling circle to flare into the same kind of red streaks that appeared opposite him, and the persistent hum, now doubled, echoed unpleasantly around the grounds.

"I won't!"

"You _will_!"

The students were not sure whose circle was broken first. The red streaks from both professors cut themselves loose and ear-splittingly zoomed towards each other in a fierce ball of red light, full of the utter frustration and fury and passion that had been the initial cause of them.

As the energies collided with each other nothing exploded as the watching students anticipated, but the balls merged into each other at an equal and enormous speed, to become a single violently shuddering globe. As soon as the collision occurred, the globe seemed to compress into itself, causing it to rapidly and forcefully shrink in size. All of this happened in mere milliseconds, and as the limit of compression struck, the globe gave off a dull, but powerful, deep thud. So powerful in fact that you could see the ring of the shockwave it emitted, half a metre thick, speeding through the air like a huge wave of dimpled water, as transparent as glass, continuing in its ring but moving like lightning, ever outward, in midair.

The professors barely kept their control as the wave hit them full force in the chest. Their feet were ferociously wrenched from the solid ground beneath them and they were propelled backwards into the air, startling the students. As the teachers were hurled backwards both managed to stay upright in the air, and as they lost momentum they were able to gain some control. They landed, tumbling backwards but still on their feet, having been thrown over fifty metres from their original spot.

The shockwave dissipated as it ran out of energy and faded to nothing. Both professors, one hundred metres apart, still keenly (albeit unknown to either professor) watched from above, bent forwards and rested their hands above their knees as they gasped for air. The shockwave had been an extremely powerful one and it was evident that both were struggling to control their breathing. The thump to the chest knocked the wind out of them.

It was obvious to the students that this display was never supposed to go as far as it had, and it was clear that they had just witnessed a rare and extreme category of most potent magic. Their professors would never willingly demonstrate their feelings to this degree. It was well-known among the students and the magical community in general, that due to the risks of uncontrolled, and therefore _wild_ magic, it is necessary for witches and wizards, particularly the more powerful ones, to learn to always control their more fierce emotions and therefore, more importantly, their powers. This knowledge encouraged the Gryffindors currently observing the events outside their tower, to assume that whatever the argument was about, it was a topic that, because of their professors' firmly fixed and evidently opposing points of view, had caused their frustration to boil out of their control and it had escaped from their normally unyielding grasp.

The grounds were now cloaked in a bright turquoise glow from a ball the size of a snitch suspended about four feet from the ground, emanating a lot of light for its size; the red light had vanished as the shockwave was released. Professor McGonagall looked up first and glared at her colleague who looked up a few seconds later and stared back. Both, still with shallow breathing walked slowly towards each other. Ever since the shockwave burned itself out, the energy of powerful magic in the air could no longer be felt by the students, although now, that was not what held them fast to the windows; it was their anticipation of what was to come.


	2. Productum Intumesco

_**Madame Pomphrey Recalls **_**Productum Intumesco**

From the open entrance doors Poppy Pomphrey stood transfixed next to Professor Filius Flitwick in her white fluffy dressing-gown with her wand ready in her hand. She watched as Minerva McGonagall walked very slowly towards the headmaster, her previous energy had disserted her it seemed, probably along with the anger she had released. Poppy was surprised at how far they had both let themselves go. She had read about _productum_ _intumesco_ in _The Complexly and Intolerably Advanced Theory of Magic_, by Lee Horendus, but had never experienced it herself, which was not surprising in the slightest; no one had ever experienced magic to this degree. _Productum intumesco _was, until about five minutes ago, only theoretical magic.

According to the recollections she had of the book, the occurrence of _productum intumesco_ was enormously improbable because it can only take place between two people, both of whom must possess tremendous, almost unimaginably powerful magic and both of whom are experiencing absolute rage. The variables in such an act of magic had been so many, and it had been so unlikely that they would all occur at the same time, that _productum intumesco_ was thought to forever remain a hypothetical illustration of magic.

Poppy recalled one paragraph more vividly as she thought back to her book. She remembered that _productum_ _intumesco_ only occurs at the peek of Absolute Rage where rage simply reaches a point where it can go no further. There is a limit to how much rage a body can withstand, and as it reaches its pinnacle some of it is gradually and unconsciously released. It is only because of other emotions, such as frustration and passion, that the Rage can be released safely, because these other emotions ground and focus it.

The release of this spilled-over Rage connects with another's and solidifies, forming something called a _pulvis_ _aureus,_ a golden substance that grows larger and larger as the Rage continues to stream out of the two bodies.

The longer this continues, the more energy floods into the _pulvis_ _aureus_, creating a motion. It eventually separates into two and both halves form a channelled circular rhythm around their participant, feeding off their energy and relentlessly increasing in speed. A sudden upsurge in a negative emotion in a person such as a flash of anger or frustration or dislike, can cause the _pulvis_ _aureus_ to 'ignite', turning into streaks of brilliant red_._

The next stage is the Release. The red streaks collide, all the solid particles are compressed together and the energy explodes outwards in a shockwave. This leaves behind the remnants of released rage in a glowing light blue orb; a _pondera_.

This orb was now only a few metres in front of Minerva. Poppy, noticing the drained look on her colleague's face, decided it was time to offer her assistance.

"Accio medi-chocolate," she called out, but did not make any movement forwards, even when the chocolate arrived at her side.

She watched as Dumbledore continued to walk the last few metres unsteadily towards Minerva. The couple in the grounds now stood close by facing each other, the _pondera_ lighting up their exhausted faces. The _productum_ _intumesco_ had not yet been completed. Poppy could not recall the final stage but it clearly could not conclude with a blue orb aimlessly floating around. Evidently Dumbledore and Minerva know what they were doing however, because no words had yet been spoken between them.

It seemed to be happening in slow motion, Poppy thought. Then again her two colleagues had just been drained of energy and then hit by a shockwave that Poppy assumed would have been less intense and overpowering had it not been for the incredible power that the witch and wizard before her commanded. Ever so slowly Minerva lifted her right hand as Dumbledore raised his left. As they waited for their breathing to even-out they held their hands steadily with the _pondera_ between them a few inches from both their palms, all the while keeping constant eye-contact. Once they were ready, they both took a deep breath, and then concurrently pushed their hands together with enormous force. The orb burst between their palms and became a two dimensional spiky circle of light evenly protruding half a metre around their hands, looking almost as if a child had cut the shape of a star with hundreds of points out of a sheet of dazzling light.

The light blazed brightly, as though there were four full moons in the sky all shining down on the Hogwarts grounds. Amidst the struggle of fighting to keep their hands pressed together while a force was trying to drive them apart, the two professors never wavered in their eye contact. Quite abruptly the light erupting from between their hands was sucked into both their palms, which Poppy now recalled, would restore them with their previous and normal levels of energy.

With the 'star' gone the only source of light was from the moon (a single crescent in the sky) and the light flooding the grounds from the entrance hall. Poppy began to make her way tentatively towards her two colleagues standing at a distance before her, still with their hands firmly pressed together, and did not miss the advice from Filius offered in jest but with underlying seriousness, declaring that she had better get her wand out.

The grounds were silent save for the crunch of the crisp grass beneath Poppy's fluffy white slippers which were probably in for some expert de-staining spells when she was safely back in her quarters. That was not too much of a bother right now though, as the two professors had still not moved a muscle since the light had extinguished itself into their palms. This left Poppy with a rather anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach.

As she came closer, however, she realised she was mistaken. They were speaking ever so softly to each other; of what, Poppy had no idea, only a simple hope that they were resolving their disagreement. _Disagreement_. It felt like such a small word to categorise the fierce and dramatic events that had just taken place before her very eyes.


	3. Sally Aisling Begins the Sixth Year

_**Sally Aisling Begins the Sixth Year**_

_September 1941_

Sally Aisling rushed through the wall between platforms 9 and 10 on the first of September 1941. It was the middle of the war and everyone in London was nervous and mistrustful. She was glad when she stepped onto platform 9 ¾ amidst the bustle of Hogwarts students and their parents hurrying them onto the train. Sally cast her round blue eyes around for her companion of five years at Hogwarts and looking to her left spotted her neat, dark hair disappearing into one of the carriages. With a smile she tugged her suitcase to her side and made her way towards the carriage she knew now held her friend.

"In here, Sally," she heard Minerva call, and she looked to her right seeing her friend shoving her suitcase roughly into the overhanging baggage rack.

Minerva was a pretty sixteen year old, with shoulder-length hair that was the beautiful shiny black of raven colour.She had adjusted it slightly with magic to achieve the waves that were the fashion of the day without the hassle of the fabric and pins that muggles used. Her eyes were a piercing green and thefeature that Sally knew mostly, but still infrequently, betrayed her emotions.

"Hey. Ready for our first year of NEWTS?" Sally said excitedly, her Irish twang ringing through their compartment. "Then again, that's probably a question I know your answer to."

Sally grinned at her friend, watching as her sharp features remained impassive.

"Oh come on, Minerva. I know you're dying to get this year going. I can't believe we've done our OWLS already. School is going by so quickly."

"How's your brother?" Minerva asked after a pause as they sorted themselves and their luggage out and sat down comfortably.

Sally had been thinking about her brother a lot lately. Because she was muggle-born her brother was not a wizard. He just had his nineteenth birthday making his age seem three years older than hers, however she would be seventeen just after Minerva, on the ninth of October, making himonly just over two years older really. He was a soldier in the British army and had recently been stationed in Dover, not allowing for much time to see his family who lived in Dublin. She pitied him, envied him and was scared for him, as well as being unimaginably proud of him. It was an unusual mixture of emotions and one that Sally was not entirely comfortable with.

"He's doing fine, I think," Sally told her friend, brushing a strand of her wispy, short, blonde hair out of her eyes. "Da got a letter from him the other day and he seems well enough but tired."

"I can't even begin to imagine," responded Minerva sympathetically.

The rest of the journey passed by pleasantly enough, with little drama and much chatter and merriment. Blake Hardy and Charles Goddard had joined Sally and Minerva in their compartment, bringing with them handfuls of pumpkin pasties, chocolate frogs and cauldron cakes that they had just bought from the lady with the trolley full of food to share with the girls.

Blake and Charles had only recently become good friends with Sally and Minerva. Two years ago, Minerva and Charles had found a common passion and enthusiasm for Transfiguration, where they could, and did, spend hours debating the subject's theories and practising its spells. Charles had introduced Blake to Minerva, and in turn she introduced them to Sally. Of course they already knew each other, but they did not become firm friends until the end of the third year.

It was common knowledge that Sally thought Charles was very good-looking. They all, including Sally, made a joke of it; she often called him 'Gorgeous Goddard'. He had light brown hair that neatly swept from left to right across his forehead, large brown eyes that gleamed brilliantly when he smiled, and his skin was smooth as glass as well as being a wonderful creamy colour. He was tall with a build that was not too muscular, and a huge attraction to many a Hogwarts student. Blake was quite different; his figure was lanky; he had dozens of freckles on his skinny face, a petite nose and small, bright blue eyes. Their height and their hair was the only similarity between them, only Blake's hair was jet black.

Minerva and Blake were required to slip out of their compartmentoccasionally to tend to their newly appointed prefect duties, leaving Sally and Charles to catch up on their summer activities.

"So Goddard, how's Dave?"

Dave was the Goddard family's winged-horse. It was an Aethonan – chestnut, and a creature that Sally was particularly fond of. She had seen Dave three times when she had visited Charles over the years and adored him instantly.

"He's fine," Charles told her. "The Ministry sent us a letter telling is that we had to renew the Disillusionment Charm this summer. Dave got a bit annoyed at that but he's alright now; I think he's forgotten already."

"I wish I saw him this summer," Sally said longingly. "Sorry I couldn't make it, but I don't get to see my brother very often and that was the week he was on leave."

"Don't worry about it, Sally," Charles said with a chuckle. "I told Dave you sent your love and gave him a piece of the carrot cake you made for us; he definitely appreciated it."

Charles and Sally continued their journey with playful banter and Minerva and Blake soon joined them, looking slightly harassed but happy. As the train neared Hogwarts they changed into their robes and waited with anticipation as Hogsmeade Station loomed nearer. Almost everybody these days could see the Thestrals, which in Sally's mind was disturbing and heart-breaking. She, Minerva, Blake and Charles clambered into a carriage that took them on their journey to the castle.

It had started to rain as they made their way up the sloping path towards Hogwarts and an outright downpour commenced as the foursome exited their carriage and clambered up the steps towards the entrance hall, all feeling rather sympathetic towards the new first years now sailing over the lake.

Relieved to be in the cosy warmth and dry of the entrance hall, the group made their way to the right and into the Great Hall. They sat down at their house table, eager to remind themselves of the taste of the spectacular food they had greatly missed for the entire summer. The wait for the first years seemed longer than usual and Sally's stomach growled loudly at her.

"Patience, my pet," she said stroking it, causing Blake and Charles, who sat opposite, to grin.

Sally turned to her left to Minerva, a question about Quidditch burning on her lips, but found a face that did not look as though it wanted to concentrate on anything but the words on the page before her in what, according to Sally, was a terrifyingly sizeable book.

"Where in the world did that come from, Min?"

Minerva glared at Sally. "Shut up, Sarah."

"Don't call me Sarah!" Sally exclaimed.

"Don't call me Min." Minerva retorted.

"Oh."

Minerva glanced back down at her book. "I had it in my pocket."

Sally silently stared at her friend until Minerva offered a sentence that held more clarity.

"I shrank it so it fit." Minerva stated nonchalantly.

"Crikey, Minerva! You-" but Sally was interrupted by the opening of the Great Hall doors. Professor Spurge, the Herbology professor and also Sally's favourite teacher came bouncing through them. He was followed in huge contrast by a large group of terrified, squashed-together first years. It was the same every year and the recurrence was why Sally found it hilarious. With Minerva, however, it always went by unnoticed.

x x x

"Oh that's good. You've got Transfiguration while I've got Divination," Sally stated spiritedly the next morning at breakfast, having just had their timetables handed out to them. "That means we've got most of our classes together."

"I can't believe you're carrying on with that ridiculous subject," Minerva scoffed with a smirk.

Sally laughed and whole-heartedly agreed. "I wouldn't have to if I did better in my Potions OWL. Slughorn wouldn't have me. I only got an Acceptable."

Sally wasn't perturbed by this thought, however. She always found Divination an amusing and relaxing subject where you can bluff your way out if you get stuck, which was usually constantly in Sally's case. She had taken the subject for two years already, always trying to persuade Minerva that it's actually very funny and that she should have taken it as an OWL as well. Of course she was not serious; Sally very seldom was. However she always felt that Minerva prevented her from becoming foolish and she adored her for it.

"Have you seen Dumbledore this term?" Minerva asked Sally. "He seems a bit – I don't know – drained."

"I know what you mean," Charles agreed, slipping into a seat opposite Sally. "Last night at dinner he was definitely a notch down from his usual exuberance."

"I wonder where he went over the summer," Sally pondered out loud, glancing towards the staff stable.

Dumbledore sat on Professor Dippet's right side, quietly musing over what to have for his breakfast. He seemed thinner that the last time she saw him and he lacked the energy he usually emanated.

"Clearly nowhere relaxing," responded Minerva, now joining Sally in her perusal of their professor at the top table.

At that moment Dumbledore looked up and scanned the crowd of students, suddenly catching the four Gryffindor sixth years watching him. He smiled towards them and touched his hand to the rim of his hat in polite greeting. Sally, Charles and Blake all looked back to their breakfast, rather discomfited at being caught studying him. However, Minerva's glance, Sally noticed, lingered a while longer, openly displaying her curiosity of the new appearance that had altered the impression of their transfiguration professor.


	4. Minerva McGonagall Receives a Surprise

**_Minerva McGonagall Receives a Surprise_**

_December 1941_

Minerva McGonagall walked along the corridor with Charles to their final Transfiguration class of the term, which in a few minutes, would hold a class of ten other students. She noticed that some classes got considerably smaller at NEWT level, and Transfiguration was the smallest of all. Only twelve people in their year had managed to reach the standard required, and this gave Minerva a feeling of pride in herself at what she had accomplished. She was good, she didn't deny that. She knew it was a subject that she excelled in and she was on the verge of saying that she was brilliant, though never ventured that far, and _absolutely_ never to anyone else. She was intelligent but she didn't sing her own praises for the world to hear; it was the slight difference between pride and vanity, a difference she took great care to be aware of.

The term had flown by for Minerva and her friends. Her prefect duties consumed a lot of her time at the beginning of the term but, as the first years settled in and term progressed, they had diminished somewhat. She had turned seventeen on October the forth and celebrated with a gloriously huge party in the Gryffindor tower, totally disregarding her prefect duties for that night… and a fair few hours into the morning. She smiled at the thought as she entered the classroom for the term's last transfiguration lesson.

It was a fulfilling lesson, and once again Minerva surpassed the rest of the students almost immediately, a feeling that was not unfamiliar to her. It gave her an extra boost when she knew it was in front of her favourite teacher, Albus Dumbledore; a man she admired for his intelligence and wisdom, his humour, his sincerity and his humility; the list, it seemed, was endless; he was everything that she aspired to be.

"Goodbye, Miss McGonagall," he said cheerily to her as she left the classroom behind Charles. She was always the last to leave as she usually found herself discussing the issues raised in class with her professor at the end of the lesson.

"'Bye, Professor."

"Oh, Miss McGonagall?" She heard him call back to her as she was just about to step over the threshold and into the corridor. She turned, her eyebrows high with curiosity, and awaited his reason for beckoning her back.

Dumbledore was sitting calmly perched on the edge of his desk facing the door, a tiny glint in both his eyes and a slight upward tug at the corners of his mouth. The unusual weary expression the students had witnessed at the beginning of term had faded rapidly and Dumbledore had quickly returned to his original appearance. His auburn hair and his beard which had grown just past his shoulders seemed to be glistening as the winter sunlight shone through the window onto his whole body. These sunbeams, which were the cause of the glitter and sparkle to his hair, produced a supreme glow that seemed to emanate from his robes. He spoke softly as he continued.

"I have a proposition for you." He paused seemingly thinking his words through carefully. Minerva waited. "I believe it would be prudent here to request that you not inquire about anything more than what I can be expected to tell you; in other words, I ask that you kindly not solicit the reasons for my proposals."

"Yes, sir," Minerva replied, eager to know what she knew he would soon divulge to her.

"Very well then." He breathed deeply, and continued. "I would like you to teach some of my younger classes, namely my first and second years. For reasons that may or may not seem obvious, I am needed elsewhere for much of next term and simply cannot fit my, shall we say extra curricular activities into my school schedule. I realise this is a lot to ask a young student in her NEWT years, and so I will understand the reasons you would have for not accepting my proposition should you choose to do so."

Dumbledore spoke slowly and clearly, with an understanding that Minerva greatly appreciated. She paused for a few seconds before responding.

"Why have you decided upon me, sir?" she asked finally, but with butterflies in her stomach from knowing the final answer she will give him.

"A good question. Not because of your skill, Miss McGonagall, although I'm sure many will think so. I believe you to be the most capable and level-headed out of all my candidates, of whom there were three," he remarked, with a twinkle in his eye. "I also happen to believe that you particularly will take pleasure in the experience. Do not ask me why for I have no answer, just a firm confidence in my belief."

"And if I agree," Minerva began, "how do I start? I hope you're not suggesting I simply be thrown into a first year class alone and use my initiative, Professor."

"Oh good heavens, no." said Dumbledore with a little chortle. "I won't be being dispensed with until a few weeks or a month into the term, so you can sit in with me while I teach and help around the class somewhat. Perhaps take over once in a while when I dash off for a much needed hot chocolate mid-class, so I do not have to worry that the students are trying to transfigure each other." He paused, and Minerva, watching Dumbledore's smile grow slightly, wondered if he was thinking back to a memory of such an act. He broke the short silence.

"You will always have someone who is a qualified teacher sitting in after I have departed, although that person will change from lesson to lesson; the cause of which being the hectic timetables of all our teachers. I will be back in Hogwarts for part of each week to teach my other classes; I shall lend you my lesson plans and be a willing instructor. And pupil," he added as an afterthought. "For I am sure you will have advice to offer."

Minerva was shocked at his last statement but did not remark on it. During another pause with Minerva staring transfixed at absolutely nothing on the floor on the other side of the classroom, she vaguely noticed, or rather sensed, Dumbledore reaching into his pocket and pulling out a paper bag. He reached inside and, not for the first or the last time, tried to un-stick two sherbet lemons. He waited patiently, giving Minerva time to organise next terms schedule in her mind.

"What do you say, Miss McGonagall?" he asked quietly after a while, gently grazing his fingers on her upper arm to gain her attention. Minerva pulled herself from her thoughts and, having decided that she could manage on top of her schedule, gave him her answer.

"Excellent," came Dumbledore's response. "Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

x x x

_January 1942_

As much as Minerva adored seeing her family, the holidays had dragged by sluggishly. It seemed an age before she returned to Hogwarts and could embark on her new duties as assistant teacher. Over Christmas she had rifled avidly through her old Transfiguration notes, and thoroughly perused Emeric Switch's_ A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_, familiarising herself with the standard expected of first and second year Hogwarts students.

Sally would be arriving back at school two days after the second term began, as she was visiting her brother who was still stationed in Dover. Minerva had been actively keeping herself up to date with the events of the muggle war and had recently been reading a lot about the terrible happenings that had occurred in early December at Pearl Harbour in America. It terrified her to known that her friend's brother was involved in this war, and as much as she knew that the wizarding world kept itself very strictly separate from the muggle world, she could not understand why they had not offered their services to the muggle authorities. This was a muggle war, she understood that, but surely the secrecy of the wizarding world was not worth the lives of millions?

Minerva thought back to Dumbledore. He was a wise and cognisant man. It seemed strange that he should be so indifferent to the muggle world. She reflected on the conversation she had had with him at the end of term and something suddenly fell into place. _For reasons that may or may not seem obvious I am needed elsewhere next term_. Was the muggle war what he was referring to? Is he offering his support? Are the wizard and muggle authorities collaborating to bring an end to the war? These questions and so many more were burning on her lips; questions, she remembered, Dumbledore had requested that she not ask him.

Sitting with Blake and Charles in the Great Hall on the second morning of the new term, Minerva had just started her porridge when the owl post came soaring into the hall. The majority of heads in the hall looked up, eager to hear news from home, or read their _Daily Prophets_, or to open packages containing items left behind in the flurry of returning to Hogwarts. A dishevelled, windswept Eagle owl almost fell into Minerva's porridge. If owls could gasp for breath, Minerva was sure that this one would be wheezing; it had clearly travelled an enormous distance. Minerva recognised the loopy writing immediately and glanced up at the staff table. Sure enough, the chair next to her headmaster that was occupied last night during dinner was now vacant. Frowning, Minerva glanced back to her letter and tore the seal. She unfolded the parchment and began to read.

_Miss McGonagall,_

_I offer my profuse apologies for my absence so soon into the term. Certain events have transpired that will restrain me from escaping my location for a few days. I have set work for all my classes for this first week, so your services will not be required until my return when we will commence with our tutorage._

_I do hope you enjoy your first week back._

_Albus Dumbledore_

Too intent on reading her letter, Minerva had not noticed the patiently waiting Grey owl that was quietly sipping her pumpkin juice until Charles nudged her with his elbow and signalled at the owl with a quick movement of his head and eyebrow.

"Oh, that's Virgil!" exclaimed Minerva when she saw the owl move to Blake's bacon opposite her juice. "He's Sally's owl."

She took the letter that was attached to Vigil's leg, hurriedly opened it and read the limited scrawl of Sally's words.

"Minerva?" Blake asked after a few minutes silence, the last of which found Minerva staring blankly through the parchment in her hands, no longer perusing the writing upon it. He cleared his throat and repeated himself. Minerva came out of her distracted condition and looked up at him.

"Sally's brother's been killed." She spoke as if in a trance, as Blake and Charles looked at her astonished.

"Shit," whispered Charles after a stunned pause, relocating his gaze to the empty chair opposite. None of them spoke for a few minutes, each absorbed in their own thoughts of Sally and her brother. Minerva spoke up first, shaking herself from her contemplations.

"She says she's coming back on Thursday," she said, looking back at the brief letter.

"As soon as that?" Charles asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "That seems pretty hasty. She was really close to him. I'd have thought she would want more time."

"Maybe she wants to come back to get away from it all," Blake responded. "She won't have anything to do at home but think about him. At least at school she'll be distracted with NEWTS."

"I didn't think of it like that. You're probably right." Charles sighed sadly. "Poor Sally," he said. "Come on, Minerva, we're going to be late for Trans."

"Oh... right," Minerva responded hurriedly putting Sally's letter in her bag.

The contents of the letter having forced all other thought from her mind, Minerva then remembered something she needed to tell Charles.

"Dumbledore's not here this week, so we have set work. And someone will be sitting in with us I think," she added, waving goodbye to Blake, grabbing her bag now containing both of her letters, and following Charles out of the hall. She would write a reply to Sally's letter with Blake and Charles at lunch. It was something she felt they needed to spend time on.

x x x

Sally arrived back at Hogwarts like she said she would on the Thursday, just before lunch. Dumbledore also arrived back that afternoon, much to Minerva's delight. She was looking forward to the lessons and hoped that Dumbledore would ask her about them again soon.

Everyone was indoors throughout the lunch break due to the ghastly weather that was filling the grounds with snow and ice. The biting wind was glacial and sharp as it slashed at the students' hands and faces if they ventured into the grounds, and nobody wanted to be reminded of that feeling in their lunch hour.

It was in this break that Minerva and her friends found themselves walking up the marble staircase on their way to the Gryffindor common room to relax. Minerva was having an in-depth debate with Charles about the moral codes of human transfiguration, when she heard a deep, gentle voice call her name from the bottom of the steps. The four of them turned their heads in the direction of the voice and saw Dumbledore make his way serenely up the steps to meet them at the top.

"Good afternoon, Professor," she said with a small, friendly smile.

He nodded his head and smiled back, then turned to Sally.

"My condolences, Miss Aisling," he said tenderly. His smile had faded and a compassionate expression now quilted his features and travelled all the way to his kind eyes.

"Thank you, sir." Sally replied, tearing her eyes from his face and bowing her head slightly. Minerva could tell that she was doing her best to hold herself together in front of their professor, and took pity on her. Before the silence could persist into the realms of the uncomfortable, Dumbledore returned his attentions to Minerva.

"Miss McGonagall, would you be so kind as to come to my classroom in your next free period? I think I am correct in assuming that it is straight after the lunch hour?" Minerva replied in the affirmative to both questions. "Good, good. You need not bring anything other than your wand. I shall see you in forty minutes."

The group of friends once more began their walk to the common room after Dumbledore disappeared down a corridor. Charles had his arm comfortingly around Sally's shoulders as he made several successful attempts to bring a smile to her face or make her laugh. Minerva saw him wipe Sally's last tear from her cheek as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

Half an hour later Minerva left the Gryffindor tower with an unfamiliar nervous quivering launching itself around her stomach. As much as she was looking forward to this additional task, the closer she got to Dumbledore's classroom, the more she doubted her capabilities as assistant to the country's most established wizard.

Lifting her head and taking a deep, calming breath, Minerva knocked on the door of the Transfiguration classroom and unhurriedly pushed it open. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk and looked up as she clicked the door shut. His eyes fixed on hers as she stood at a halt in front of the door, and he peered intently at her. After a few moments, he spoke.

"Nervous, Miss McGonagall?" His deep, soothing voice visibly sent her tense body into a tranquil state. It felt as though he had just performed some anti-anxiety magic merely with the tone of his voice. Perhaps he had, Minerva wondered, a small smile stealing onto her face as she made her way to his desk.

"Please," Dumbledore said, indicating a chair opposite him with a slight gesture of his hand. Minerva sat down, gaping disbelievingly at all the papers scattered on his desktop, and some, she noticed, suspended in mid-air around him.

"Miss McGonagall?" Dumbledore asked curiously, after seeing the expression on her face. She looked back to him.

"It seems that we work very differently, Professor," she remarked in her Scottish twang.

"Ah," said Dumbledore, understanding. Minerva knew he had noticed her precision in class, and also her overt irritability if someone was to rearrange her meticulously ordered notes. "It would seem that way. However, I know exactly where everything is in this ostensibly cluttered environment. And I must admit, Miss McGonagall, that I too get snappish if my belongings are rearranged or relocated."

Minerva looked down and smiled self-consciously at Dumbledore's patent knowledge of her habits.

"Shall we begin?" he asked.

They had been rifling through and discussing Dumbledore's second term first year notes for a little over an hour. Minerva had been making her own notes with Dumbledore's rather extravagant peacock feather quill. 'It's fabulous to write with though', she thought, as the nib sailed slickly across the parchment. However, she was beginning to become a little frustrated. At the sound of her irritated sigh, Dumbledore looked up only to see her squinting at her words on the page.

"Something the matter, Miss McGonagall?" Dumbledore asked with an amused smile.

Minerva looked up from her work with a maddened expression displayed on her face.

"I think I need glasses," she remarked exasperatedly.

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore nodded with appreciation and a familiar understanding. "A studious person such as yourself, reading fine print for hours in gloomy lighting is bound to eventually feel the necessity for such valuable annoyances. Let us add more light to this murky container we have placed ourselves in, shall we?"

With a swish of his wand, the flames in the lamps on the walls burst into renewed life, filling the classroom with a golden glow.

"Will that do for now?" Dumbledore added, seeming to empathise with Minerva, as her need for glasses appeared to be one he understood in minute detail.

"Thank you, sir, that's much better."

The couple set back to work again in a silence that continued for several minutes.

"I like your quill," Minerva said absentmindedly after a moment, still continuing to look down at the words forming on the page as she wrote.

"His name is Bert," Dumbledore replied; and he too continued with his notes. Minerva stopped writing mid-sentence and looked up with amused surprise.

"You named your quill?" she asked, her eyebrow raised and a small smile tugging up the corners of her mouth.

"One of my second years named him," he told her, now looking back with a matching smile that caused his eyes to glisten with amusement. Minerva waited for a moment and stared at her professor; then,

"_Him_?"

"Yes," he replied, as if this was an obvious truth. "Bert."

Not for the first time that night, Minerva delayed a moment before she spoke.

"Well then," she finally responded, "I like Bert."

"Then you may keep him," Dumbledore said, returning to his writing. "I have many peacock feather quills."

"Ah, Bert's brothers," Minerva stated mockingly. He looked up at her once more as she continued. "Do they have names too?" The sarcasm was extremely evident in her voice. Dumbledore's eyebrows rose as he stared at her over his half-moon spectacles, his eyes still sparkling jovially.

"Why, Miss McGonagall, I do believe you are teasing me," he said happily. "This is a rare occasion and one that I shall savour. People seldom tease a wizard who is supposed to be influential and serious. And apparently humourless," he added.

Minerva thought he sounded rather gloomy and regretful as he revealed this small piece of information about his life outside of teaching. But his smile remained, and he continued.

"Now then, I think we've covered enough for tonight. Come by on Monday, ten minutes before the first years have their lesson at eleven o'clock. When the lesson commences you may sit in whilst I teach the theory and then assist with the practical. Does that sound reasonable?"

"Very, sir," she answered, gathering her notes. "Thank you."

"Ah, no Miss McGonagall, it is I who should thank you," he said sincerely, almost in a whisper.

Minerva looked back at him and smiled, then turned to leave.

"Don't forget Bert," he said quietly from behind his desk.

Minerva turned and noticed that he had returned to his writing. He did not look up as she picked up the quill from its place in front of him, nor when she turned once more to the door whilst saying, "Goodbye, Professor." But she heard his response and smiled;

"Farewell. Take care of Bert, or his brothers, Basil and Kelvin, will be most unhappy."

x x x

The next day was a chilly but pleasant one when Sally and Minerva walked through the Great Hall and out into the grounds after lunch. There was little breeze and the thin, grey layer of cloud became disconnected in places displaying the dull blue sky and the weak sun of the winter months. The two girls made their way across the huge scope of grass before them, talking as they walked.

"Can I talk to you, Minerva?" Sally said suddenly, sounding uncharacteristically nervous and serious.

"Of course," replied Minerva glancing at her friend. "Is everything ok? You look worried."

"No, no, I'm fine," she replied, again with an unusual amount of anxiety. "I have to ask you something, Min – erva," Sally added, seeing Minerva's sharp look.

"About your brother?" Minerva inquired.

"No, it's nothing like that. That's something I have to deal with myself, and get on with."

Minerva stayed silent, allowing Sally time to gather her thoughts and articulate them.

"I know that you and Goddard are good friends and I know that you are not one to display your emotions on such thing so I thought I'd just better come out and ask. You spend a lot of time with Goddard and I was wondering whether or not you liked him more than a friend."

Minerva's brow crinkled and she turned to her friend. They had just reached the lake and had sat down by the edge, watching the water as the afternoon rays of a winter sun caused it to glitter. The ripples were small due to the minute breeze, but the gentle noise of the splashing water against the banks was calming and pleasing to their ears.

"Charles is a great friend, Sally, but nothing has ever, or will ever happen between us. We just don't think of each other like that; it's simply never come up."

"Oh, ok," Sally replied. Minerva thought she seemed rather relieved and concluded that this was not only a conversation to ascertain Minerva's feelings towards Charles but also to divulge her own.

"What's going on, Sally?" Minerva prodded, feeling that Sally needed encouragement.

"I just – _really_ like him, Minerva." Minerva noticed Sally's worried expression as these words relieved themselves from her lips. Not worry for Minerva's reaction, but a concern of how her feelings would be made known to the boy in question or that they might not be reciprocated.

"Sally," Minerva said, submerging the word in a small chuckle, "I've never seen you look so anxious. How long have you like him like this for?"

Sally thought for a moment before she replied.

"I can't put my finger on a specific time. Last term I just found myself thinking about him a lot more than usual and just realised gradually. Then I got scared; then I started watching him and saw that you two spent a lot of time together and I thought that if something had not happened already then there was a possibility that it soon might; then–"

"You should trust me enough to know that I would have told you if anything had actually happened between us," interrupted Minerva gently.

Sally looked rather sheepish at this.

"I know," she said, "I'm sorry."

Minerva smiled at her and they looked at each other, both thinking about the situation at hand.

"Has – has he ever said anything about me to you?" Sally asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Nothing specific," Minerva replied honestly. "He has mentioned you of course, as he mentions all his friends. But," she added seeing the sadness leak into Sally's features, "he is not the sort of person who would say something to anyone, let alone a mutual friend."

Sally did not smile at these words of comfort, and her expression remained troubled as she looked out across the lake, seeing nothing but the thoughts in her mind.

"Do you want me to say anything to him? Subtly, of course," Minerva inquired.

"No," Sally told her decidedly. "I don't think I could be around him after he says he doesn't feel the same way –"

"But you don't know he'll say that," said Minerva forcefully.

"No, but I've got a fifty-fifty chance and I'd rather not risk it; at least not until the end of school."

Minerva sighed through her nose in minor frustration. No matter what Sally said, Minerva was determined to see a conclusion to this flurry of emotion in Sally and decided that she would bring her into conversation a little more often with Charles to gauge his feelings towards her.

x x x

Minerva's first few lessons as assistant teacher flew by, but splendidly. Some of the second years had tried to catch her out, asking her difficult questions and not so subtly teasing her. But Minerva had been professional and intelligent throughout, reprimanding them when she needed to, and her often sharp responses had earned her a reputation as a tutor not to be crossed.

On the afternoon of the day Dumbledore was to leave Hogwarts on his undisclosed business, he had written to Minerva and asked her to come once more to his classroom to hear his informal evaluation of her teaching. Minerva sat at her usual spot, opposite him in a chair at the front of his desk, waiting for him to sign his name at the bottom of a letter he had been writing, and send it off on the leg of the same eagle owl with which she had received her letter from Dumbledore.

"There you are, Archibald," Dumbledore said to the owl. "As quick as possible, if you please."

As the owl soared out of the open window, Dumbledore turned to Minerva, who, all of a sudden, felt her nerves stir and her stomach quiver.

"Now, Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore started with a smile, "as you know I am leaving tonight, so I feel that some support and encouragement are called for. It is at times unwise to praise a person who does not, in that moment, feel self-doubting; however, I think that in this case such praise is insisted upon. You feel your work is going well, am I right?"

Minerva simply nodded in acquiescence.

"Good," Dumbledore continued in the same merry tone. "I must tell you that it has made an enormous difference that you do not become overtly discomposed when you, shall we say, rebuke your pupils. Your cold manner of doing such an act, though I feel I must add very different from your usual self, has terrified them far more and not given them ammunition to retort back, as it would have if you had become flustered. You seem to have a natural gift with teaching, Miss McGonagall."

"Thank you, sir," Minerva replied, the surprise at such praise evident in her Scottish burr.

"No such thanks needed," Dumbledore replied, holding up a hand to impede further gratitude. "I am merely stating a fact." His eyes caught hers and he continued when she did not respond, "Are you comfortable, with the notes you have, to continue whilst I am away? Do let me know now if there is anything you wish to alter or raise questions about, or simply reflect upon. I am at your disposal for the next," Dumbledore looked at his watch, "half an hour."

Minerva thought for a moment, deciding whether or not to let Dumbledore know the one thing that had been bothering her since he had asked her to assist him last term. He was sitting patiently, waiting for Minerva to voice her thoughts. She thought he knew, or could at least sense what was, and had been for some time, on her mind, although he had never ventured to ask but had waited until she was ready to express her contemplations.

She looked into his soft face; his eyes, she noticed, had a grave heaviness that was sneaking its way around the merry twinkle which was still present. Minerva felt, although the expressions were contrary to each other, that they were both sincere; that the joviality was not a façade (even though it worked as one) which concealed the solemnity of whatever was shaping Dumbledore's thoughts and reflections, but a sincere emotion. She thought back to all of her intimate encounters with her professor and understood that the sobriety had always been present, and that she had now simply become aware of it through her frequent meetings and her increasing familiarity with him.

"There is one aspect I wish to ask your opinion of," Minerva stated tentatively.

Seeing Dumbledore nod his head in encouragement, she continued with more firmness and confidence.

"I've been thinking of what the student's attitude towards me may be once you're gone. You've been present in all of the classes and I imagine that their behaviour might change somewhat; be it because they do not hold the respect for me that they do for you, or simply because of the inevitable alterations of their lessons in your absence," she paused. Dumbledore was silent and Minerva was glad to see that he understood that she had not finished her explanation. "I'm not greatly worried," she continued, "because I think I've earn enough respect from them to teach and supervise with authority. I just want to know what you think on the matter."

"You know, Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore replied with the greatest sincerity, "I really have not given it much thought." Minerva's eyebrows shot up at hearing the unexpected response. "Ah, you misunderstand me," Dumbledore continued on seeing the astonished look transform her previously composed features. "I simply meant that I do not feel that this is an aspect that requires our attention purely because I have already seen in you the extraordinary ability to govern a class. I do not feel that my lack of presence will inhibit you, or make the students any more disruptive than they are when I am there. Why, just the other day one of my third years thought it prudent to remind me of the smell of a Zonko's stink pellet. Naturally, I thanked him, and requested that he remind me again in a year's time - charming boy."

Minerva suppressed a chuckle but did not manage to conceal her smile, as Dumbledore chortled at the memory.

"Honestly, Miss McGonagall," he said earnestly, "I would not trust anyone else with my students; at least not to any further extent than I trust you now."

Minerva was overwhelmed by this heartfelt statement and felt a rush of pride on hearing it. "Well," she spoke the word amidst a gush of air, quite beholden from his honesty. "I shall do my best to justify your trust in me."

She stepped out of Dumbledore's classroom a few minutes later with a renewed feeling of confidence and a tremendous desire to reinforce the words he spoke to her. She headed for the Gryffindor tower only to find the person she had been about to seek crawling his way out from behind the portrait of the Fat Lady, his broom clutched in his hand.

"Hi, Charles," greeted Minerva with a small smile.

"Hello, Minerva," he said smiling pleasantly back at her. "How was your meeting with Dumbledore?"

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "He was so generous in his compliments; the man is a genius at filling people with confidence."

"It went well then," Charles quipped.

Minerva glared at him in response to his jest and moved the topic along.

"You're going to Quidditch practice I take it?"

"Yeh, we're playing Slytherin in a week and Heather Redman is apparently _still_ recovering from the Ravenclaw game a fortnight ago. She got pummelled by those Beaters and now she's lost her nerve and flinches every time a bludger come within ten metres of her."

The seventh year Gryffindor Heather Redman was the best Chaser their team had seen in a long time and Minerva remembered only too well that in the last match the Ravenclaw Beaters would not cease firing bludgers her way. She only managed to score twice in that match, even though twelve goals were scored by the Gryffindors; an unusual ratio for Heather, and she had to continually fly in zigzags to escape the relentless bludger attacks.

"I'll walk down with you," Minerva told Charles. "I could do with some fresh air."

They made their way through the castle and down the steps into the Entrance Hall before Minerva brought up her intended topic.

"Is Sally in the common room?"

"Yeh," Charles answered with a perfectly normal lack of reaction. "She's doing the Herbology homework we did a couple of days ago." He smiled at this, then continued. "She always leaves it to the last minute. I've never understood that. It's her way I suppose."

Minerva mirrored his smile.

"She seems to work well under more pressure," Minerva said, then decided to take it a step further. "I heard Will Webber-Mason – you know the Hufflepuff in Transfiguration everyone calls Webson? – I heard he was going to ask her to Hogsmeade on our next visit."

Minerva watched Charles' reaction carefully and finally received one. His jaw clenched and his eyes stared straight and unmoving in front of him; he did not smile or seem at all pleased upon hearing this news. It was true, however. In the first week of term before Sally had come back, Will had asked Minerva if Sally was seeing anyone and of course Minerva had replied with a negative response. He then inquired if Sally would agree to go to Hogsmeade with him later that term. Minerva became frustrated at this and told him that she would not be a go-between and that he had to ask her himself.

"He's a bit peculiar, isn't he?" Charles said this as more of a statement than a question. "She'll probably say no," he added with assurance; possibly, Minerva thought, to convince himself.

"Probably," she replied simply, mainly to give him peace of mind.

It appeared to work. Seeming to feel rather more satisfied, Charles ceased his sharp stare into the distance and looked at Minerva who was watching him carefully. She had seen more than enough; there was definitely something there, even if Charles was unsure of it himself.

She lingered for a quarter of an hour or so at the Quidditch pitch because she had accepted Heather's offer to ride on her new Cleansweep Four. As Minerva left the pitch the rain started to fall quite heavily. She picked up thick branch from the nearby Forbidden Forest and transfigured it into an umbrella, rather pleased that she had managed to achieve the mauve colour she wanted and not the brown pattern of bark that most people would have produced – or rather kept.

Minerva enjoyed walking in the rain and so slowed her pace as she walked up the grounds towards the castle. It was dark now, and the lights from the windows looked warm and welcoming. She heaved open one of the entrance doors and slipped inside, shaking her umbrella and folding it closed as she did so.

"The work of a proficient, Miss McGonagall." Dumbledore's voice came sailing towards her, as pleasant as ever. He was dressed in a travelling cloak and was looking at the umbrella as Minerva turned it back into its true identity of the thick branch, threw it out of the large open door and then dragged the door closed.

"Hello again, Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore touched his hand to his hat in greeting and, after reaching for his wand and pointing it at the floor by Minerva's feet, he dried the hem of her robes which had become wet and heavy from walking through the grounds.

"Thank you," she responded. "Are you leaving now?"

"I am," replied Dumbledore. He took a few steps towards her. "Now," he continued, "Where did you throw that branch? _Accio branch_."

The branch came sailing through one of the open windows towards Dumbledore's outstretched hand. It landed firmly in his palm and his long fingers gripped it. He then performed the same spell as Minerva and transformed the branch back into an umbrella. This time however, the umbrella was lime green with images of life-size lemons covering the whole surface. Minerva's lips flickered into a small smile.

"All the best for your new classes, Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore said as he strode out of the entrance doors and into the dark grounds.


	5. Discussions of War

_**Discussions of War**_

"How did it go, Minerva? What was it like? Did you get harassed out of the classroom? Did anybody hex you?"

From her resting place on the ottoman set into the wall alongside a window overlooking the grounds Sally's questions, whether serious or tantalizing, came in full force when she saw Minerva enter their dormitory. Minerva, who had just returned from her first Transfiguration lesson in which she was in full command, let Sally's probing sail over her head. Ignoring her and remaining quite composed, Minerva went over to her bed and dropped her bag on top of her blankets. She turned to Sally and waited for the interrogation to abate. After the question of, "you're looking uncomfortable; do you have spikes protruding from your cheeks?" and then Sally's blatant stare at her friend's behind, Minerva gave her her most piercing glare, and the seemingly inexorable questions were brought to a standstill.

"Hi Sally," Minerva said calmly, ignoring all that had just tumbled from Sally's lips. "What are you reading?" she asked, for Sally had a book open in her lap as she sat with her feet resting on the ottoman and her knees up.

"It's a muggle book," she replied, closing it with a snap and swinging her feet round in order for her to face her friend comfortably. "_The Importance of Being Earnest_."

"Oscar Wilde?" asked Minerva, checking to see if her memories about muggle authors served her correctly.

"That's the one," replied Sally. "So – do I have to ask again?"

Minerva sighed and smiled.

"I'll tell you at lunch. Come on I'm famished." She grabbed Sally's hand and pulled her towards the door.

They met Charles and Blake in the common room as usual and the four of them made their way to the Great Hall. On the way down Charles was asking Minerva about a particularly complex transfiguration spell, involving complicated scrutiny of a possum's double helix. They walked down the marble staircase towards the Great Hall in deep discussion until Blake interrupted them.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to bring you two down to the common level of everyone else before we eat."

Smiling heartily, Minerva and Charles delayed their conversation until a more suitable time would present itself, and continued their walk to lunch.

It seems that no one ever notices how hungry they really are until they sense the wonderful smells rolling out of the Great Hall doors. These delicious smells were precisely what now had the attention of the four friends, and conversation ceased until they were comfortably in their seats with their dishes full of the beginnings of a glorious lunch. When the hurried gobbling had turned into a leisurely-paced munching, conversation sprung.

"So how was your class, Minerva?" Blake asked after swallowing a mouthful of lamb and mint sauce.

"It was great actually." Minerva's reply was spoken as she sat back, pausing from the food for a moment. "I seem to have developed a reputation as a severe, relentless schoolmistress." She allowed herself a chuckle and her friends hooted merrily with her. "It was the first time I'd taught the theory without Dumbledore so it was a little scary at first but it went well. Thankfully it was Professor Spurge who sat in with me and not Slughorn. He's still trying to get me in that stupid club of his. Anyway, I'm really beginning to enjoy the teaching and Dumbledore's only away at the beginning of the week, when the first and second years have their lessons, so he asked me to report to him every Friday. It's really quite a useful setup."

"Do you know where he's going yet?" Charles asked her, and the curiosity of all four friends peaked.

"No," Minerva sighed, "and I can't ask him because he asked me not to."

"I reckon he's at the Ministry," Sally contributed in a low tone. "I mean Dumbledore does have sense; he must be helping out with the muggle war."

"Or at least trying to persuade everyone there that the muggle world _needs_ wizard help," added Minerva.

Prior to this conversation she had not voiced her contemplations about Dumbledore's whereabouts or activities, but since Sally seemed to be thinking along the same lines, she did not feel as though she was betraying Dumbledore quite so much; even if their speculations did turn out to be accurate.

"I can't _believe_ the attitude of the Ministry towards this war," Blake began, becoming slightly flustered. Minerva had noticed throughout the years of knowing him that he seemed to become far more animated than usual whenever a political discussion sprang. "I mean," he continued, "they say they do their best to keep peace between the wizarding world and the muggle world; saying that no one is superior, that we're all equals and –"

"And rightly so!" interrupted Charles.

"Right," continued Blake vehemently. "But then they show _no_ support _whatsoever_ when half the world's muggles are being _slaughtered_! Why can't they see that _not_ assisting in this war is prolonging it!"

Blake's exclamations had become progressively louder as his annoyance was released and he had begun attracting the attention of the other students close by. Minerva thought he might actually hammer his fist on the table at one point; and she could have sworn she saw sparks fly out of his wand even though it rested safely, though protruding slightly, in is pocket.

The rest of their lunch break was mainly spent energetically discussing the muggle war and repeatedly voicing their bewilderment about the lack of wizard involvement, throwing Minerva into deeper contemplation about Dumbledore's absences. However, she only arrived at more questions, most of which she had been prohibited from raising with Dumbledore. She was beginning to feel that the restraint on her questioning tongue was waning.

x x x

_March 1942_

"You are distracted. Perhaps we should scrutinize my tiresome notes another time." Dumbledore's soft, low voice permeated Minerva's preoccupied mind.

The second term would be drawing to a close in a couple of weeks and _still_ the war persisted, and _still_ Dumbledore's reasons for leaving each week were concealed behind an opaque veil that could not be lifted.

"I'm sorry, sir," Minerva said softly, lifting herself from her seat opposite him. "I'm – rather tired."

The recovery from her hesitation did not fool Dumbledore. She could feel his eyes burning into her skin, though she would not look into his face.

"Miss McGonagall, do you wish to discuss something with me?" Dumbledore asked her.

'Many things,' was the thought that floated across her mind as she turned to meet his gaze, and it seemed as though she had spoken it out loud.

"Ah," said Dumbledore, almost in a sigh. "Your burning curiosity and my – desperate desire to confide make the resisting path a thorny one."

Dumbledore then surprised Minerva by tugging off his half-moon spectacles and rubbing is eyes, one with the thumb and one with the fingers of his right hand. She sat back down steadily as he restored his spectacles to their rightful place at the end of his long nose. Minerva kept silent, sensing that Dumbledore had not quite finished articulating his musings. He then confirmed her feeling.

"I have a question for you, Miss McGonagall," he stated gradually and carefully, obvious in the thorough examination of his statements before they were voiced. "The Ministry, and others besides, do not think it wise to – engage in such matters with our students. And I quite agree when concerning those in the lower years; however our minds differ pertaining to the elder.

"You have heard about the two opposing protests at the moment, of course; one against the wizarding world taking a part in the muggle war; the other in favour of it. There is a majority within the ministry itself who stand firmly against active participation in this war purely because they believe that this is not _our_ fight, and that our intrusion will cause disruption even amongst the allies. These people also say that a wizarding side, even if fighting against a corrupt opposition, has an unfair advantage over its rival, insofar as there is not a single chance the magical side can be defeated."

Minerva could not restrain from responding in outrage to this.

"But the Ministry can't think the muggles so proud and headstrong that they would not welcome all the help they can get, no matter who it is from. We could end the war now! Surely to save the lives of so many the Ministry would be under _moral obligation_ to intervene!"

Minerva's vehemence forced her voice into exclamation, but Dumbledore understood it as the question it was intended to be.

"I am pleased to hear you are so vociferous on this issue, Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore replied, his eyes adopting their usual twinkle as he peered over his half-moon spectacles.

Minerva lowered her fierce gaze sheepishly.

"You need not feel insecure about your ideas," he said gently, responding to her reaction of discomfort. "I happen to agree with you, and I also, if you'll excuse my immodesty, know for certain that I have been right all this time in trusting the minds of the elder students. You clearly have the ability to form your own astute opinions and I believe the sensible input of the youths in our world is invaluable to the Ministry."

All of a sudden a gleam of sorrow flooded into Dumbledore's face, but, although Minerva did not miss it, it was quickly checked and masked. She decided in one bold move to inquire about the thought behind that now shrouded expression.

"You have not said all you wish to tell me; or asked me your question, sir."

She spoke gently but surprised herself at her almost presumptuous demeanour. Dumbledore simply smiled a small smile at her; a sad smile she thought; a smile that comes with the burden of wisdom and knowledge amidst the lack of being able to make people see and understand. They sat for some time in silence. Minerva was absorbed in her thoughts of what Dumbledore had conveyed to her, then on the fact that he had confided in her at all. A strange uneasiness overtook Minerva's senses and she shifted in her chair, bringing her professor from his own reflections. He held her eyes with his and there was a few more seconds silence before he spoke.

"The Ministry has requested," he began slowly and deeply, "that no teacher at this school may make his opinion on Ministry matters known to, what _they_ deem, impressionable minds.

"No one at the Ministry will heed a particular statement of mine, and I am forbidden to speak of it, as it is greatly lacking in proof."

Here, Dumbledore breathed deeply through his nose, as though bracing himself before following his instincts and going against Ministry advice.

"I have a powerful – impression, Miss McGonagall, that the war we are not fighting in – _is_ our war."

Minerva's eyes, having wandered in her contemplations of his words, shot back to his at once; her brow faintly furrowed and her mouth opened a little in shock as she realised his words.

"Do you mean that this is a _wizard_ war, professor?"

She continued her astounded stare, her eyes imploring him to respond. Dumbledore's lips remained closed as he, once more, held for silent pause. It seemed to Minerva that he was again considering his next words carefully. He spoke in a slow and troubled way, revealing more openly the sorrow he had earlier let her glimpse.

"I believe that if we do not join this war, the battle will be lost not only for muggles but for wizards as well. And not just the battle but the soul of society. There are deeper forces at work in this war that the Ministry have not, and doubtless for some time will not acknowledge; and until they do, our world will continue to darken under this – ominous cloud of threat."

"I don't quite understand, sir," said Minerva puzzled but no longer self-conscious. "Do you mean that these deeper forces are the works of wizards?"

"I believe that this opinion should not be discounted, yes," said Dumbledore carefully.

"But then, if the Ministry doesn't realise this, that wizards are working behind the scenes, as it were, and consorting with the enemy, then the unfair advantage that people speak of is over _us_ and in favour of the side which, by all accounts, is lead by advocates of amorality. We will lose."

Minerva felt and sounded defeated as her speech came to its conclusion.

"We will not lose." Dumbledore's voice was fervent and compelling as he spoke those four simple words. "You know the truth, Miss McGonagall. I call it this for, though I have no evidence that we are in a wizard war, I believe it strongly enough to name it 'truth'. Now for the question I have long been meaning to ask. But before I do, I need to know that I have your confidence and support."

"You always will, sir," Minerva replied quietly but firmly.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said in a whisper. "And so my question stands thus; how would you feel about organising an active campaign within the school with the elder students – and the younger should they demand it – petitioning that we should join the war?"

"I would feel it my duty, sir," Minerva replied without hesitation and with dedicated resolution. Dumbledore smiled proudly at her, and continued his request.

"Tell only those you implicitly trust about my suspicions of wizard involvement, and of the lack of support I have received from the Ministry; for that still needs to remain a secret, otherwise the Ministry will not allow me the resources it provides me with now as a Hogwarts teacher which I have been using to investigate into the truth of my claims. And this is something I need now more than ever."

A thrill of excitement bubbled through Minerva as Dumbledore spoke. She would be helping out in this war, gathering support within the school walls, and she will let the Ministry know that students have the sensibility, the right and the obligation to participate in the political decisions of their world. She would demand that the war would be over sooner if the magical world helped the muggles who were fighting for freedom, and she would consequently, though secretly, assist in raising their allies on equal footing with whom Dumbledore deemed the _wizard_ foe. She would help him uncover his truth, as there was not a single doubt in her mind that his inferences could be defective.

Minerva decided that she had become intimate enough in conversation with Dumbledore for her to ask the question that had been fighting its way to freedom since before term began.

"Sir?" Dumbledore peered at her once again over his half-moon spectacles, giving Minerva the feeling that he was looking beyond her eyes. He responded with a deep, throaty, "Hmm?"

"Where is it you go?"

Dumbledore continued to look at her, or rather through her, for a few moments more before replying.

"I have told you already and only because of necessity, the _reasons_ for my departure. The Ministry, if they discover this, will not understand that had they put their trust in me I would not have had to go against their requests. It is my own decision, however, that keeps me from relating to you the details of my expeditions. You will understand why of course; the danger it could put you in is unfathomable."

"Yes, sir," Minerva replied, a little annoyed at not having thought of that herself. "Sorry," she added. "But Professor, does _anyone_ know where you go? I mean if something happens to you, how will anybody know – or even know where you are to find out?"

This thought troubled Minerva. She was sure that Dumbledore would not place anybody else's life at risk by telling them of his whereabouts or his exploits. Dumbledore however, simply gave a sad smile at the question and continued as if it had not been posed. He stood up, moving his chair back with the backs of his knees, signalling the end of their conversation and time together.

"A student voice can be powerful if passionate and supported by others, Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore told her with intensity. "Use this power as skilfully as you possibly can to help us achieve our means to the end."


	6. The Relocation Dome

**_The Relocation Dome_**

_May 1942_

Minerva sat on a chair in the middle of the common room next to a small, oval Edwardian table, surrounded by every single Gryffindor student of the school of Hogwarts. All were in a state of overwhelming suspense in an almost abnormal silence as they listened to the Minister for Magic's clear, crisp, and rather brusque voice filter through the wireless that was resting on the table's surface.

It was with minute but significant feelings of self-worth that Minerva sat here now. In the last few months she felt as though she had not rested for a moment. The importance of her upcoming exams weighed heavily on her; her diligent attentions to the pro-war campaign and the (almost) uninterrupted teaching of the first and second year transfiguration classes made certain that Minerva's mind would not stop its feverish exertions in order to gain repose.

Dumbledore was absent more and more frequently, and only Minerva, Sally, Charles and Blake knew the real, or rather the main reason for his absence; for Minerva had relayed to her three friends Dumbledore's theory of wizard involvement on the enemy side. This thought had unnerved all four of them and they, all being passionately in favour of wizards on their side joining the war, had campaigned furiously to gain support and Ministry attention.

Several weeks ago, Sally had come up with an idea. Many were against it at first, but Minerva saw its genius. One morning, a surprisingly cold one for the warming month of May, the teachers had entered their classrooms to teach the sixth or seventh years, only to find themselves lacking most of their Gryffindor students, along with a few Ravenclaws. It was Professor Spurge who alerted the rest of the staff to the full situation, having been outside with a third year Herbology class.

Minerva felt the rush of anticipation as she stood in the castle grounds surrounded by her fellow protesters all encompassed in a transparent dome, rather like a bubble with its pearly gleam washing over it. She had cast the Dome herself after researching a rather difficult spell and was, as yet, unsure of its accuracy. As Professor Slughorn, having been one of the professors who had been informed of the situation, made his way down the front steps towards the group, she would discover if her spell was a success.

"I'll hazard a guess that _you_ cast this Relocation Dome, Miss McGonagall," said the professor, with an attempt at anger, but failing as a proud smile formed on his face.

Minerva had never appreciated Slughorn's attempts to reel her in as one of his favourites. She ignored his comment, and kept watching as his steps drew him nearer. He was about to purposely test the effects of the dome for himself, already knowing that the consequences would be a surprise, but also that they would not be too harmful if a student had made the Dome.

A silence had fallen upon the group inside the Dome and all eyes rested on Slughorn, as he was well aware. His final step to the edge of the Dome proved Minerva's spell to be victorious. Slughorn's whole body was sucked into the ground with a squelching noise and he disappeared from their sight.

There was a raucous cheer from inside the Dome, and they all began to picture in their mind's eye the new location of their Potions professor. If a person tried to enter the Dome who was a professor of Hogwarts, a Ministry employee, or a student who did not believe in joining the war, they would be immediately repositioned to a room on the sixth floor of the Hogwarts castle; Slughorn had now been transported to this room.

The room had been expertly decorated by the Gryffindors, covered with posters on all seven of its walls bellowing expressions such as, "Unite for peace and join the war," and chanting verses like,

"_Join the war to see its end,_

_And through this feat we shall befriend_

_Honour befitting the noble name_

_Of wizard, and will create a flame_

_To encompass all in victory's light,_

_And prove to all our strength and might_."

There was a scroll of parchment suspended in mid-air in the centre of the room. (This had been Minerva's idea, replicating the Dumbledore's organisational habits). The scroll had the names of each student in the Dome and more who had wanted to petition but who refused to be hindered in their daily activities by being in a big bubble.

To show how serious the students were, many of whom were as ardent in their protests as Minerva and her friends, they remained in the Dome over-night – Minerva, Charles and a few seventh years having aided them in transfiguring small rocks into pillows. The Dome fortunately sheltered them from the harsh daytime wind, but, as it was, the night was fine and pleasant.

Having received more attention from the faculty members the next day, the students persevered. After a few days in the Dome with little food, a complete absence of lessons and more and more students entering the bubble, press interest was attained. Several interviews were sought and granted – a particularly lengthy one with Minerva by a journalist named Gwendolyn Sommeddle. The reporters conveyed to the students during the interviews that they believed in their courage and defiance, and the next day saw the _Daily Prophet_ full of support for them.

For days after that wizards and witches were writing into the _Daily Prophet_ voicing their own opinions on the muggle war. The students of Hogwarts seemed to have given a voice to the wizarding community, and now people wanted to be heard. Local petitions were set up; there was one in Hogsmeade that the students knew for certain was being heeded more and more as the days went on.

In the end, the attention the students were receiving was too great to be ignored by the Ministry of Magic, and a wizard named Mr. Bletchley from the International Confederation of Wizards was called out to Hogwarts, accompanied by a Magical Law Enforcement official and a senior Muggle Liaison Officer. Thrice had Mr. Bletchley, in his fanatical and effervescent attempts to force the students out of the Dome, stepped too close to the protesters and been relocated to the room on the sixth floor.

With nearly seventy students now in the bubble, (and even a few dozen local people from Hogsmeade) and with names well into the hundreds scribed on the scroll, the members of the Ministry agreed to show the petition to the Minister for Magic himself, but only if the students would come out of the Relocation Dome. There was uproar at the imbalanced sides of this negotiation, and after coming back from his fifth relocation Mr. Bletchley reluctantly agreed to firstly show the Minister the petition, and then return with his response.

However, neither Mr. Bletchley nor any other Ministry members returned. But two days after his departure, an official letter from the Minister himself arrived at Hogwarts stating that conclusions were being drawn up within the Ministry about wizard participation in the muggle war, and a report was to be heard on the wireless on May the eighteenth.

This was what brought Minerva and the other protesters out of the Relocation Dome. Having not been able to actively demonstrate, the teachers clearly wanted to make their opinions about the protest known, and the students were awarded with an even more spectacular feast than usual, if that was indeed possible.

The eighteenth of May, therefore, saw the students gathered around Minerva and the Edwardian table as she waved her wand at the wireless situated upon it and found the assistant to the Minister's languid voice sailing lazily up to their ears. After his short introduction, the students all waited with nervous anticipation for the Minister's voice to sound.

"Who ever thought that the voice of our children could be so – inspiring?"

Minerva thought his tone rather contradicted his words, as his irritation slipped through.

"We have been _forced_ to see through the forest that was blocking our path from sight; _forced_ to open our eyes to the tempestuous affairs of the events surrounding us. We. Are. At. War."

An eruption of cheers broke out in the Gryffindor common room concealing the applause on the wireless. Minerva, however, did not cheer. Where her fellow students saw victory, Minerva, Sally, Charles and Blake only saw a lift to equal footing with their enemy. They felt relief but not triumph; at least now they had a chance to defeat their unknown magical foe.

The following evening Minerva, Sally, Charles and Blake sat in the comfortable seating surrounding the enormous Gryffindor fireplace. A glorious fire was crackling and burning in the grate, its flames dancing upwards into the chimney. All four were in good spirits even though they knew that the war would not be ending as soon as everyone around them believed.

"It's a shame Dumbledore wasn't here for your Relocation Dome, Minerva. And for the announcement," Blake said.

"Well, I think I'd rather he be trying to convince the Minister that we're in a _wizard_ war and not a muggle one than be here at the school," Minerva replied, hoping that the Ministry of Magic was his location and not somewhere alone on a dangerous mission he had assigned himself to and one that was unknown by anyone else.

"Is that where you really think he is, Minerva?" Charles asked her.

She looked at him but kept silent, conveying to him that she was indeed clueless to his whereabouts.

"Are you worried?" he inquired.

"Yes," she replied after a few seconds silence. "No one knows where he is or if he's safe."

"But this is _Dumbledore_ we're talking about," Sally interjected. "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

"I agree," supported Charles. "If whatever he wants to do was so risky I'm sure he wouldn't actually do it."

"Thanks, Gorgeous Goddard," Sally said, leaning sideways on the sofa in an escape from his playful flicking that had commenced at the sound of his nickname.

Sally giggled as they battled (she had started good-humouredly slapping him) and Minerva watched them with a small smile. She exchanged a meaningful look with Blake who was also smiling knowingly. Minerva hoped that Charles would say something to Sally before school ended; however, only Sally seemed to know how she felt, and that was the extent of the knowledge of the situation. The feelings of each were now obvious to everyone else – and something that they were both completely blind to.


	7. Reflections

**Disclaimer**: Poem belongs to Mary Frye (1932)

_**Reflections**_

_May 1943_

Minerva entered the transfiguration classroom silently. The great clock with no numbers that hung on the wall to her left struck seven and she knew that the evening feast was just about to begin. Unconcerned about this small fact, Minerva lightly trod her way to Dumbledore's chair. She perched on the edge of the seat, familiar to her now through the few months of tutorage to the first and second years.

She had not been an assistant to Dumbledore since the wizarding world joined the war because he was now away so often that a full-time substitute teacher had been appointed for all the school years. The wizarding world had been at war for a year. Dumbledore's speculations were, of course, found to be authentic, and the wizarding battle with their magical enemy, now known to be a wizard named Grindelwald, had begun.

Within the walls of Hogwarts, however, there was another happening, which was what gave Minerva the desire to seek solace in Dumbledore's classroom. Strange occurrences in recent weeks had culminated in the petrification of several Hogwarts students. Headmaster Dippet had ordered a Mandrake Draught to be brewed in order to restore the victims of this strange crime to health, but still no one felt safe within the usually secure walls of the castle. Despite the fact that the Headmaster remained at Hogwarts, Minerva knew that the general atmosphere would relax when Dumbledore returned.

She leaned forwards and rested her elbows on the desk in front of her; absentmindedly fingering the Head Girl badge that was pinned to her robes with her right hand, whilst resting her chin upon her left as it took the shape of a fist under her jaw. So much had occurred in the last year that had grieved and frustrated and exhilarated Minerva. This war was not yet a fight on a battle field as it was for the muggles, but a conniving, deceitful mind game. The muggles, it seemed were merely pawns and puppets in the treacherous hands of a madman. Grindelwald was a deadly enemy, who mastered and raged war to his own tune and respected none of the rules of battle. The danger lay in his unpredictability, as if he held the war in the palm of his hand and could crush it at any moment. It also lay in his control, and he could manipulate it as if every person involved was a piece on a chess board.

Minerva now thought back to the faces she knew she would never again set eyes on. Many students had been forced to leave Hogwarts by their parents; some because of the war, some because of the danger that now lurked within the castle. The school was not half the size in number that it had once been. Her three best friends remained, as did most of the elder students, wanting to finish their NEWTS because only then would they be allowed to participate in the war. As her thoughts kept floating from the perils of war to the terrors inside the castle and back again they caused an involuntary shiver down her spine.

Her mind then turned to Dumbledore. She had not seen him for months, and during this time the new evil at Hogwarts had arisen. Minerva felt sure that these attacks would never have taken place had he been present. An uneasy quavering in her stomach arose as she began to wonder what Dumbledore was doing that very moment.

"Not joining in the delights of the feast?"

Minerva's eyes shot towards the door to behold the very person whom occupied her current thoughts.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Minerva exclaimed.

Dumbledore smiled at her surprise and walked tiredly towards his desk.

"No need to get up," he remarked when he saw Minerva readying to lift herself from his chair.

He slipped into the chair that she usually occupied in their meetings together, making her feel rather uncomfortable because the top of his head was lower than hers. He sighed as he took his weight off his legs, stretching them out in front of him, and leaned into the support of the chair-back, closing his eyes.

Minerva was unsure of what to do, and for a few moments simply stared at his resting form. As his face relaxed, it loosened its grasp on its mask of joviality. His normally handsome features had now altered to form the appearance of weariness and anguish. She analysed his form a moment longer. He had not taken off his travelling cloak yet, but she could glimpse his uncharacteristically conventional, dark coloured wizards' robes where the cloak had fallen open. He had folded his hands neatly in his lap and she noticed a rumpled letter within the clutches of his ringed fingers.

Moving her eyes upwards she saw that his auburn beard had grown a little since she last saw him, and had developed the tiniest hint of grey in places. Continuing her eyes' steady ascent, Minerva then noticed a small cut on his left cheek, low enough almost to be concealed by the top of his beard. It had grown red and sore around the edges in the healing process and looked to Minerva to have initially been quite deep. Finally her eyes moved up to his and a jolt went through her to find that his were open and staring back at her.

The tips of Minerva's cheeks pinked slightly as she looked away from the inquiring expression in Dumbledore's eyes.

After a moments silence Minerva heard him say cheerily, "How about a delicious lamb chop?"

She looked back and saw two plates hovering in midair by his shoulder piled high with a mountain of food.

"You look hungry, and Merlin knows I am famished," he said, offering her one of the plates.

Minerva smiled and gratefully accepted it. She did, however, have many things she wished to discuss with him.

"Professor–"

"Ah," Dumbledore interrupted, "you're curious mind always manages to bring a smile to this tired old face. What is your question?"

"Have you heard about the attacks in Hogwarts, sir?" Minerva inquired.

"This very letter is from Professor Dippet letting me know the details of the attacks. What do you know about it, Miss McGonagall?"

"Not very much," Minerva replied grimly. "They've only been on muggle-borns as far as I know." She waited a moment then asked him something that she had been rather curious about. "Do you think that these attacks have anything to do with the war, sir?"

"No," replied Dumbledore without hesitation. He sighed and put his trepidation to words. "There is so much careful scrutiny because of the war but it is all aimed in the opposite direction to these attacks. The war has presented an opportunity for the culprit to carry out these unrelated assaults openly. We have been negligent; we have been so scrupulous in our efforts to gain the upper hand in the war that we have blinded ourselves to what is immediately present. We cannot now see what is right before us."

"What can we do?" Minerva asked, feeling anxious from the distress in Dumbledore's usually serene voice.

"I am afraid that we can do nothing but remain vigilant," he replied. "I shall be remaining at Hogwarts until the culprit is apprehended. I will also resume my post as transfiguration teacher. I trust the new professor has been to your liking?"

Minerva paused briefly. The new Transfiguration teacher's expertise was a single drop in an ocean compared with Dumbledore's tidal wave of knowledge. Her short silence gave her true answer, but she responded with a modesty owing to the new teacher's determination to do well. She explained to Dumbledore about the teacher's methods, then decided to bring a little humour to the conversation, for Dumbledore looked as though he had not smiled in months.

"…and he doesn't secretly suck on those yellow sweets during class. Or any sweets for that matter."

"Sherbet lemons, Miss McGonagall. Sherbet lemons," Dumbledore responded with exasperation as if he was disturbed that someone could forget the name of such a magnificent sweet. His eyes, however, took up their usual sparkle and Minerva responded by rolling her eyes in jest.

"Sherbet lemons then. The fact of the matter is he's strict and ordered unlike some transfiguration professors we all know–"

"But?" Dumbledore interrupted with the tiniest glint of a smile.

Minerva sighed and looked defeated. She knew Dumbledore would detect the fact that Minerva was not fond of the transfiguration substitute and that she was only enjoying their playful banter.

"But he has no character, no absurdity, nothing that makes him stand out," she explained. "His socks are an unadventurous colour, his words are sensible, his manners are predictable." She took a deep breath before she voiced her next criticism. "And he makes a strange coughing yelp after almost every sentence, which has most of the class in hysterics and the rest in aggravation."

Dumbledore laughed quietly at Minerva's amusing frustration, then with joking speculation said, "I wonder which side you come on."

Minerva shot him a piercing but light-hearted stare; she had at least made him laugh.

"Oh dear," sighed Dumbledore as he glanced at the clock on the wall. "I must away to the Headmaster. Please stay and finish your supper."

He lifted himself out of the chair and turned to the door, his cloak billowing out majestically as he did so. No longer did he seem weary or distressed. His eyes were alert and his now upright frame emanated strength and dominance.

"And, Miss McGonagall," he resumed. She looked up to his finally smiling face. "Perhaps bring a book next time you feel the need to keep my classroom company. We can't very well have you conversing with the tables and chairs now can we?"

The corners of his mouth twitched his lips into a deeper smile, and he departed.

x x x

_June 1943_

The students who had remained at Hogwarts were gravely assembling in the Great Hall. The usual banners and flags displaying the colourful Hogwarts crest were now a pure, plain black. The house tables had been taken away and the students filed into the neatly arranged chairs that faced the staff table. The room was still and quiet as the students became settled. Nobody felt it appropriate, or indeed felt the need to talk. A girl was dead, and spirits were low.

Minerva, Sally, Charles and Blake sat in the front row directly opposite Dumbledore who was sitting on the right of their Headmaster. The latter rose from his seat once all the students were present and all eyes turned to him.

"It is a sad event that brings us all together this bleak afternoon," began Professor Dippet. "The prospect of a death of a fellow student is unthinkable; the murder of Melanie Myrtle is devastating to us all. Not many of us took the time to get to know her, but those who did would know that she was a bright character and was the owner of a somewhat unusual temperament. Dark times are drawing us further from our tranquillity, but we must do all we can to seize it and conquer the evil that lies before us."

Minerva's eyes glanced to the teacher opposite her. He was upright in his chair with his hands resting neatly on his lap, his fingers entwined. His eyes were staring at the empty surface of the table top but were still alert, showing that he was deep in thought but still listening to his employer's words of sorrow.

Minerva saw his eyes slowly lift to look straight ahead of him and he fixed them on her. She saw his regret and knew he was wondering how this could happen at Hogwarts School and before his very eyes. She decided to watch him until he turned away, but his gaze remained on her for countless minutes and never faltered.

His eyes were piercingly blue, but a blanket of grief had wrapped around them and dulled their familiar twinkle.

'It's not your fault,' Minerva thought as she looked back at him, because she could feel his regret coarsely penetrating her own skin.

She saw his mouth quickly part a little and his eyebrows jerk swiftly upwards in surprise. Minerva's brow contracted in bewilderment; she could feel his emotion and he could hear her thoughts.

Suddenly she heard her name spoken from the Headmaster's lips. Her eyes were still on Dumbledore and she saw his brow furrow faintly in uncertainty – uncertainty about what, Minerva would not discover for some time. She shared a brief sad smile with him as she lifted herself from her chair. Stepping unhurriedly onto the platform that the staff table rested upon, Minerva walked in front of her teachers to the centre and faced the school. Taking a deep breath she read the poem that would bring tears to the eyes of many of her listeners.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep  
I am not there; I do not sleep.  
I am a thousand winds that blow,  
I am the diamond glints on snow,  
I am the sun on ripened grain,  
I am the gentle autumn rain.  
When you awaken in the morning's hush  
I am the swift uplifting rush  
Of quiet birds in circled flight.  
I am the soft stars that shine at night.  
Do not stand at my grave and cry,  
I am not there; I did not die."


	8. Graduation

_**Graduation**_

_August 1943_

The first glimmer of sunrise peeped through the tiny slit between the thickset blood-red curtains of the Gryffindor girls' dormitory on the morning of Minerva's graduation day. The wind breezed in through the open window and nudged the curtains, momentarily causing Minerva's sleeping face to be illuminated with soft sunlight then plunged back into darkness. She stirred and began very gradually to awaken. The dormitory was dark but the subtle deep red glow of the curtains told Minerva that dawn had recently past. She rubbed her eyes and stretched feline-like in her bed, then relaxed back into her pillow with a sigh.

It was good to be back at Hogwarts again. She had missed it at the beginning of summer, knowing that she would not be entering it again as a student. These few days spent at the castle for the graduation ceremony were the last the seventh years would spend together at Hogwarts. Minerva stretched her arm beyond her bed posts and reached for the curtain to tug it open furtherand became involuntarily caught in another stretch as she did so.

When the curtain fell to its rearranged position the morning light from the window struck her graduation robe and Minerva's stomach fluttered. The gown was the wonderful deep purplish red colour of magenta with the Hogwarts emblem embroidered on the front in the centre. She stared at her gown as her mind whirled.

Her Hogwarts years had been wonderful, even through the perils of war and darkness. The culprit had supposedly been apprehended concerning the death of Melanie Myrtle, though it all seemed to have happened rather quickly. Dumbledore, Minerva presumed, was not convinced, but nothing had occurred of the same nature since.

The war was raging and the end was still not in sight. The future that lay ahead of her now was shadowy and uncertain. It seemed that everyone at the moment was working in the war. Many people were getting jobs as trainee medi-witches and wizards; or had applied and been assigned specifically to investigate people who were assumed to be under the Imperious Curse; or had become part of the team which puts its best efforts forward to keeping the wizarding world secret from the muggles.

The Ministry had exclusively asked Minerva to begin animagus training in October, for, as they told her, they would never know if and when a situation will arise when they would require an animagi. Minerva was one of the many graduates who were being trained to become part of the recently established Magical Defence Force. They would start training in September at an unplottable base, developing their skills further in duelling, basic healing, potions-making and important war defence spells such as concealment charms and the like. It was an exciting concept, and helping out in the war was gratifying to Minerva. It was the thought of the indistinguishable outcome of the war and the thought of her future _after_ that which caused the significant amount of insecurity to trouble Minerva's mind, but no one knew how far off these times would be.

Looking at the unnumbered, many-handed clock (similar to the one in the transfiguration classroom) on the dormitory wall by Sally who was in bed surrounded by her closed drapes, Minerva saw that it was just past five thirty. Deciding that she would be up in an hour anyway and that it would probably take her that long to get back to sleep, she silently pushed back her bedcovers and swung her legs round to perch on the edge of the mattress. Rubbing her eyes once more, she picked up her towel and headed for the Prefects' bathroom.

Two and a half hours later, Minerva sat with Sally, Charles and Blake at the breakfast table in the Great Hall. It was a very merry scene. There were only two tables instead of the usual five. The teachers sat in their places at the staff table that was raised up on its platform, and the seventh years were all seated together on a table adjacent to it at ground level.

Spirits were high (despite the ever present threat of war) as the students began to reminisce about their Hogwarts years and discuss their future aspirations with their friends. Blake was reminding them all of a particularly amusing incident that had occurred in their fourth year as he shovelled bacon and beans into his mouth. Minerva could not remember a more glorious breakfast at Hogwarts.

The Graduation ceremony was to take place at eleven o'clock and the rest of the morning after breakfast was spent in an excited flurry. The students' parents began to arrive at ten and were shepherded into the Great Hall which had been emptied of its customary large tables and replaced with hundreds of chairs all pointing in the direction of the high platform. Resting upon this platform was no longer the staff table but what appeared to be a magnificent marble font. The base of the font was a thick hexagonal plinth with white and black marble assembling the surface and the stem of the font rose in the centre.

This stem was rectangular in shape and made from a light grey stone. Carved into the stone on each of the four sides were the figures of the four founders of Hogwarts, Godric Griffydor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. The rim of the font, two inches think, was coated in ancient runes; and should anybody peer over the edge they would see what looked like clear water submerging a large, glistening, emerald stone, immovable in the centre at the bottom of the basin.

At eleven o'clock Minerva lined up with the rest of her year on the left of all the chairs (now almost completely full of parents) ready to take those few final steps as a student of Hogwarts. The line of students was a colourful one. Each was wearing robes relevant to their house. The Slytherins wore a deep majestic green, the Ravenclaws a royal blue and the Huffelpuffs were draped in sunlight yellow. Professor Dippet was calling them up to the platform one by one in alphabetical order.

"Miss Sally Aisling," he called to the line of students.

Minerva watched from the sidelines as her friend made her way across the platform. Sally's magenta gown billowed out behind her as she walked towards Professor Dippet and the font, her heeled shoes clicking merrily on the stone floor beneath her. Minerva could not see all that was taking place because Sally's figure was concealing the font from her, but after a few seconds a narrow beam of purple light shot quite suddenly out of the font and rose high into the enchanted ceiling. A few people in the crowd of parents (some of whom were muggles) gasped or 'ooohed' at this occurrence. The others simply seemed restless with anticipation for _their_ child to be on the platform in the spotlight.

The purple beam continued to shine as a slowly rotating scroll rose gradually upwards from the basin, rolled and sealed with the Hogwarts emblem and encompassed in the purple light. When it reached Sally's shoulder height she tentatively raised her hand and caught the scroll, bringing it from the purple beam which then quickly fell back into the basin. Dippet shook her hand and congratulated her, then signalled to the empty chairs lining the front four rows of the seating in the Hall. Sally walked to the other end of the platform with her scroll and made her way to a chair on the first row.

The queue dwindled quickly. "Mr Charles Goddard" and "Mr Blake Hardy" were soon called to the platform. Minerva had clapped strongly for all of her friends as there diplomas were received. Before long Minerva herself was at the front of the queue.

"Miss Minerva McGonagall," she heard Dippet call.

She made her way forward, thinking with each step how awful it would be to trip, and she finally reached the basin. Her hands did not shake, though she could feel her nerves quivering in her stomach. She looked questioningly at her headmaster when the purple beam did not flash from the basin as she neared it.

"Just touch the liquid with you index finger, Miss McGonagall."

Assuming that he had said this nearly sixty times already that day, Minerva did as she was told and put the tip of her index finger in the surface of the liquid. It felt like thick paint although it looked in every way like water, and was almost hot to the touch, which surprised Minerva and she quickly withdrew her finger.

The purple beam surged from the font. Minerva peered over the font's edge and saw the tip of her own scroll begin to emerge from an opening emerald stone that was fused to the bed of the basin. Hers however, was different to all that had passed before it. As the scroll rotated slowly upward, it brought with it another small object. Minerva could not make out what this object was in the purple light. She took hold of her scroll and removed it, but the purple light and the object remained. She could not help but think that she had done something she oughtn't; perhaps she had not touched the liquid for long enough, or she had touched it with the wrong finger, though she was sure Dippet had said the index finger.

Minerva looked hurriedly at her headmaster who smiled at her and said quietly, "I cannot remove it for you, Miss McGonagall."

Once again Minerva plunged her hand into the purple beam and grasped the object in her fist. She felt the cold of metal and the sharpness of stone against her palm and fingers. Removing her hand from the light, which then finally vanished, she turned her wrist and opened her hand, palm upward, to reveal a small glistening silver ring. It bore the Hogwarts shield in the centre with the 'H' encrusted with clear jewels, and on either side of it were the engraved initials of H. G.

"Congratulations, Head Girl," Dippet commended loudly, holding out his hand.

Minerva shook it and replied her thanks to the headmaster. Noise suddenly rushed to her ears, Minerva having only just realised she had blocked out all sound, and she could hear the applause of the parents and students in the audience below. Turning her head as she made her way to the other end of the platform, she caught sight of Dumbledore standing at the back of the Hall by the doors, beaming at her and clapping with energy. She smiled at him and took her place next to Blake.

"Well done, Minerva," Blake said. "You don't get anything like that for just being a prefect," he added, looking at the ring Minerva was now slipping onto her middle finger and admiring.

She thought she heard a slight bitterness in his voice, but as she turned her face to his, she saw that he was smiling; she smiled back. A feeling of elation that had replaced the shuddering nerves now bubbled in her stomach as the line of students diminished. As distracted as she may have been at that moment, however, she still noticed the quick squeeze Charles gave to Sally's hand, catching both her and Sally by surprise. There was no time to inquire into the meaning of this strange action however, because the Great Hall now fell silent for the Headmaster's speech.

"These last few years have been trying ones for us all, and it is the efforts and perseverance of our students that has many people keeping hold of the belief that there is a glorious future worth fighting for; _their_ future. The events of the last seven years have been numerous; and there are some I'm sure I still do not wish to discover."

There was a small tittering in the crowd as Professor Dippet smiled and continued. He was a good headmaster, though many believed he had had his moment of glory and that it was time for him to step down. It was no secret that most people wanted Dumbledore for Headmaster of Hogwarts at least, if they could not get him for Minister for Magic. Dippet ended his speech on the note of, "Congratulations to the wizards of the future." There was a polite applause and then, as he stepped from the platform, chairs began to scrape and a babble of noise emerged and grew louder as people stood up and moved to find their respective relatives.

Minerva's parents were seated towards the back of the Hall. She rose with her three friends and they made their way up the aisle. She could see that her father had abandoned his usual robes for formal occasions and was dressed in his kilt and sporran. These Minerva knew he only wore on very special occasions. They were not even worn to most Ministry dos.

A much more welcome sight entered her eye line then, however, and Minerva's eyes locked with Dumbledore's. She had been with her parents all summer, and had not seen Dumbledore since two weeks before the end of term; he had left again, rather suddenly, on the business of war.

When Dumbledore had seen Minerva he had begun to make his way over through the throng and was now standing before her.

"Congratulations, Miss McGonagall," he said softly. "I wish you all the happiness the world has to offer."

"Thank you, Professor," Minerva rather shyly replied.

"Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore continued, "I do hope you stay in touch; I wish to hear of your great achievements and tremendous entertainment. Not to mention I will miss the wonderful ability you possess to tease your professor."

Minerva had to smile at this. She adored the company of Dumbledore and that alone justified the reasons for consenting to his wishes.

"Yes, sir," she replied, and then felt it suitable to add, "Nothing would give me more pleasure."


	9. To Take A Walk

**_To Take a Walk_**

_April 1945_

Minerva had been a part of the Magical Defence Force for almost two years. She and her colleagues lived at the Headquarters and rarely saw their family and friends. She had kept in touch with Blake, Charles and Sally throughout all this time, but the letters were rare and she missed them dearly.

Blake's father had not allowed him to participate in the war and had as good as forced him to join the family business. A small shop just off Diagon Alley which went by the name 'Dervish and Banges' was his father's life, and was, unfortunately for Blake, just about to become his too. He wrote to Minerva about the ridicule he received from many people, some friends, some even complete strangers, about not taking part in the war. She was sorry for him, but sorry was all she could be when she was so far from life away from war.

Charles was in the Muggle Protection League, helping to try and keep the muggles safe while at the same time attempting to conceal the wizarding world from them. Memory charms therefore, as well as the usual combat spells, were of the essence in his business and he had mastered them to perfection.

Sally had ignored her parent's wishes to stay out of the war and had joined the muggle army. She went to Dover, as her brother had before her, and helped the sick and scared inside the secret tunnels that travelled along the coast in the cliffs. The rooms inside the tunnels, she told Minerva in one of her censored and rather encrypted letters (for the muggle post was the only available source there), were either swelteringly hot in the summer months, or unbearably freezing in the autumn and winter months, and being unable to perform magic in front of the muggles, she also had to endure these conditions.

Minerva received a letter from Sally four months ago in January of '45. She felt a wonderful exhilaration from reading the letter and had read it again and again over the course of the next four months.

_Dearest Minerva,_

_I hope this reaches you and finds you well. Muggle post is so unreliable these days, but even if I could get my hands on an owl, I couldn't risk it. I'm still in Dover and the horrendous temperatures have not changed. Emily, one of the muggles whom I work with, collapsed the other day from the freezing cold and shear exhaustion at trying to stay warm. That has happened many times. The cold is agonizing. I hope we shall not have to be here too much longer._

_I have wonderful news for you. Goddard came to Dover just two weeks ago as part of the Muggle Protection League. We are engaged, Minerva! I have to see you to tell you everything, for it is too much for a letter. My heart swells at the thought of him. He loves me and he told me so. He was such a dear. He told me it was you who made him realise. I cannot say how much I love him for my hand cannot write the words._

_Please write back to me. I long to hear from you. I miss you immensely._

_Take care, my dear Minerva._

_Love, Sally_

She had heard from Sally only once since then, and only to report how hot it had now become and how she missed Minerva, Charles and Blake.

Dumbledore was another (rather more infrequent) person whom Minerva had been in contact with. She had realised only in the first five months after being recruited into the Magical Defence Force that he held a lot more power over the Ministry than she had previously believed. Since the discovery of Grindelwald a lot more people viewed Dumbledore with renewed respect and admiration. They seemed to have forgotten that they had mistrusted him and had stood firmly against him until he single-handedly proved himself. Thankfully Minerva did not have that guilt weighing on her conscience.

As Dumbledore had requested Minerva had written to him over the past two years, though rather sporadically, telling him about her animagus training (though not yet the particulars of the animal she becomes because a letter in the wrong hands could lead to disaster) and her time spent at the Magical Defence Force base, and he had responded with enthusiasm but with equal scarcity.

Now that April had come, Minerva had begun preparing for a mission with her comrades to the south of England to help against the upcoming V-1 rocket attacks. She had already used her animagi form in some of the missions she had been sent on, but it was not yet perfected; she was still uncomfortable in the skin of the cat she becomes.

She was currently practising emergency transformations with her superior in a small stone room that was lit by flame torches and held no furniture whatsoever. The room was set towards the back of the enormous unplottable base in which she had resided over the past nineteen months.

"Right, McGonagall, I am going to stand with my back to you. You remain in human form until I turn. I do not want to see one piece of human flesh when I look round, clear? I want to see a cat. What I do not want is to catch you in the middle of your transformation."

Minerva's instructor, Madam Starching was a strict but good trainer, although not an animagus, (which Minerva always felt was slightly peculiar). She was rather unwomanly, with broad shoulders, a plump torso and very short spiky hair. She walked in quite a masculine way, and Minerva found it somewhat amusing that Madam Starching's animagus form, should it have been possible for her to choose one, would be a chaffinch. With Madam Starching as her mentor Minerva had managed to roughly accomplish her animagus form in only nine months.

Her transformation occurred in a flash and the tiniest hint of a smile appeared on Madam Starching's face. Minerva, who saw the world very differently through cat's eyes, looked up at her instructor and cheekily mewed in her most innocent way. Madam Starching slowly raised a bushy eyebrow and stared sternly down upon Minerva's new form.

A sudden darkness then appeared over Minerva. She turned her tiny cat head and was stunned to see Dumbledore's figure standing in the doorway, his shadow looming over her small form.

"I beg your pardon, Madam Starching," Dumbledore said courteously, bowing his head a little. "Have you seen Amelia Brandon? I have been –"

"Sorry Dumbledore," Madam Starching interrupted, her voice booming brusquely. "I am in the middle of teaching and I do not wish to be disturbed – even by you," she added.

Minerva was looking from one face to the other from her low position as the two people high above her spoke. Dumbledore had begun to talk again then stopped abruptly and looked to the ground.

"My profuse apologies, Ma'am," he said to Madam Starching, "I had no idea you were in the middle of a class. Please excuse me."

On seeing Dumbledore begin his hasty retreat Minerva quickly (and without the permission of her tutor) transformed back into her human form just as he turned.

"McGonagall! What do you think you are doing?"

Minerva, now standing between Madam Starching and Dumbledore, ignored the exclamations from her teacher and stood in silence as she saw Dumbledore stop in his tracks. He turned slowly back towards her with a mild look of surprise on his face. Minerva found it utterly delightful to see him again.

"Good afternoon, Professor," Minerva said, suddenly feeling rather shy.

"Good afternoon, Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore replied, somewhat stunned. "You complete yourself as a cat I see. Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir. I hope all is well with you," Minerva inquired, not forgetting her manners.

"As well as can be expected under such situations as war," he replied. "Speaking of which, I really must find Amelia." He turned to leave once more, and again stopped and turned. "Miss McGonagall, would you be kind enough to be my guide around the base later? I see you are living in such charmingly picturesque grounds and I would be honoured if you would show them off to me."

"Certainly, sir. I finish this lesson in an hour," she said.

"Marvellous," Dumbledore said enthusiastically. "I shall be waiting in the lobby," and with that, he disappeared from view.

Minerva turned to Madam Starching, feeling lighter than she had been even moments ago.

"Ah, McGonagall, how nice of you to remember I am here." Madam Starching said roughly.

x x x

"So how are you finding life after Hogwarts, Miss McGonagall?"

Minerva had walked through the lobby's back entrance with Dumbledore and they now stepped out into the glorious grounds in the late afternoon. Ahead of them were acres and acres of lush green gardens with countless different types of flowers, some with magical properties, others without, all releasing their different perfumes into the air and creating a whirling mass of fragrance. The buzz of insects filled the would-be silence around them, as did the chirruping conversations of the blue tits, the starlings, the finches and the many other spring birds.

They could see the numerous orchards that were dotted about the grounds and the river running through them to a destination beyond their vision. They began their steady decent into the grounds, wandering along a dusty gravel path that paved the way for their walk.

"I'm enjoying it," Minerva responded. "It's – different."

Dumbledore did not miss her stumble; "You sound uncertain. Are you happy?"

"Yes," Minerva replied quickly, "I am."

She hesitated, unsure of whether she should put her concerns to words. Dumbledore was an understanding man, she thought, he would not think her unreasonable.

"Many people expected the war to be over as soon as the magical community joined it," she continued. "And when they found out that you were right and that it wasn't just muggles they were fighting they automatically accepted that it would last a lot longer. Because of you I knew all along that our victory would not be immediate, I just – I didn't realise the war would last this long once people learned the true face of our enemy. I thought that the end would be closer once people found out who they were _really_ fighting because they would know how to defend themselves properly."

Dumbledore looked pensive as she spoke and considered his response in the brief silence that followed.

"Grindelwald kept himself unknown for almost three years before most of the magical community discovered his involvement," he began. "He is an intelligent wizard, Miss McGonagall. We cannot think that once we discovered his connection that we would be prompt in our victory. It would be presumptuous of us to believe ourselves invincible; the outcome of this war is still uncertain."

"You knew from the start it would still be years long?" Minerva asked, not altogether surprised.

"I knew that we were fighting an enemy who would not yield without causing much pain and grief, and that the war's end would not come without delay."

They lapsed into their own silent musings and continued on their path, passing through the first orchard of apple trees. The gravel path that travelled through the orchard crunched under Minerva and Dumbledore's feet, and every now and then they would catch a glimpse of a shy Dryad who had heard their footsteps and had begun wending her way among the trees to avoid them, moving to mingle with the noisily cheeping birds. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the gaps in the flourishing spring leaves of the trees surrounding them, breaking up their path with rays of light beaming down from above.

Dumbledore began talking of Hogwarts and the amusing antics of some of his students. He then asked Minerva a question, the answer of which she had already given much consideration.

"Do you miss Hogwarts, Miss McGonagall? I believe I can sense in you a melancholy nostalgia as I remark on it."

"I do miss it," she told him. "I became very attached to it when I was there."

"Would you consider coming back to teach?" Dumbledore asked her. His voice told her that the question was not as simple as he had made it out to be. Minerva wondered if he was proposing something more serious than a simple curiosity.

"I would consider it, yes," she answered carefully. "But I feel I have so much to do first. I can't come back – yet."

"What is it you do want to do?" Dumbledore asked.

"My father knows a witch in Egypt who has said that I can stay with her for several months when the war is over," she said sounding calm, when inside her every nerve now tingled with excitement at the very thought of her future. Dumbledore listened with interest.

"Her name is Bastet. She is the last witch in her family as far as she knows and an animagus; a cat. She told my father she would help me to perfect my transformations and teach me the history that has been passed down to her. One of her ancient ancestors was the very first cat animagi," she told him. "I need to go. I need to learn who I am and what it is I become; otherwise I feel I will never know myself completely."

"I think it is a very good idea, Miss McGonagall, and your reason for going is very wise indeed. I'm sure you will prosper from it. Egypt is a remarkable country, and I believe that, knowing you as I do, it will be more than a few months before you return – Egypt is breath-taking for any magical person, but for one such as yourself, whose eagerness to learn and discover are strong characteristics, I think you will find yourself unable to leave it until you accomplish all that is possible when you are there."

Dumbledore began to tell her of the exciting and rather peculiar adventures he himself had had in Egypt as they stepped out of the orchard and into another enormous garden. The river now ran alongside Dumbledore on the right of their path, tripping over stones and splashing between large rocks as it made its way onward, tearing at the banks on either side. There were several stone statues dotted around the garden. One giant sculpture rose up in front of them as their path turned a corner behind a feisty willow tree. The statue was in the form of Pegasus, appearing strong and powerful in his mighty rear.

"Do you keep in touch with Mr Goddard?" Dumbledore asked Minerva, presumably connecting Charles' winged-horse, Dave, to the Pegasus before them and following his train of thought.

"I receive a letter from him about once a month," Minerva replied. "He's doing very well by all accounts. He's very enthusiastic about his job in his letters; he works in the Muggle Protection League and I believe he's rather well positioned now. He and Sally are engaged," she told him with a smile.

"Well now, that is wonderful news," Dumbledore expressed delightfully. "I believe they will make a marvellous pair."

Minerva smiled broader at his response and they continued to make their way through the gardens, laughing merrily and conversing about nothing and everything, from Minerva's glasses acquired after graduation to Dumbledore's outrageously pink socks. It seemed it was a pleasant relief for both of them to escape the actions and discussions of war.

As the evening drew on, the sun began to set ahead of them just to the right of their path, which was now running through an orchard of trees holding enormous bright red pears the size of quaffles. The orange and pink glow that shone ahead was breathtaking; the only light in the darkening sky.

"Do you see much of Blake Hardy, Professor?" Minerva asked him, curious to know what Blake was up to. He had made himself somewhat of a outsider since his father prevented him from joining the war, and now Minerva rarely heard from him, though she herself sent him frequent letters.

"He seems to be doing much better," Dumbledore replied, clearly knowledgeable of Blake's unfortunate situation. "He and his father moved the store – 'Dervish and Banges', I think it is named – to Hogsmeade and it has improved greatly in the new situation. He is happier, I believe."

"That's good to hear," said Minerva, grateful for this supply of information. "He's been so closed off since–"

Minerva was interrupted by the shrill wail of the sirens that were now flooding deep into the grounds from the Force's base.

"I have to go," Minerva said over the noise. "That's not the emergency alarm but it means we all have to be back at the base for something."

"I think I will wander around a little longer," Dumbledore informed her. "I must leave for Germany in a few minutes as it is." His face looked sad, Minerva thought; as though the prospect of something mournful lay ahead of him. He held out his hand to Minerva. "Take care Miss McGonagall, and thank you for a most enjoyable evening."

She slipped her hand into his, gliding her fingers across his palm, and felt his long, soft fingers curl around it. Their hands did not perform the customary movements of a handshake, but simply stayed motionless as she looked up to his face. She felt herself shiver slightly under her skin though there was no wind and the evening air was pleasantly warm and refreshing.

"Goodbye, Professor," she said, still gently clutching his hand in her own.


	10. Ten Years On

_**Ten Years On**_

_May 1945_

Minerva was standing in the crowded square of the temporary wizarding town of Sphinkleshire, the closest town to the Magical Defence Force Headquarters and a town newly created solely for the use of the Force and their families.

There was a buzz of excitement among the hoards of witches and wizards gathered there, and the powerful and the experienced could feel the magic in the air as the anticipation swelled. And then, quite abruptly, everyone became quiet and still as they heard the magically enhanced voice of the Minister emerging from the town hall; a _sonorous_ spell had been cast upon the wireless in order for the witches and wizards below to be able to hear the Minister's words that were now gliding over the crowd and into the ears of the attentive listeners.

"The enemy has surrendered unconditionally," the Minister for Magic announced to the suddenly ecstatically cheering crowd in Sphinkleshire. "Grindelwald has been defeated, and his wizard and muggle enemy forces have yielded – the war in Europe is over!"

Another cheer from the excited crowd burst over the rest of the Minister's speech and this time could not be brought back to silence. People began shooting fireworks up into the air with their wands; one person had shot up a Dancing Fairy which was now running through the air leaving a trail of sparkling stars behind her. The local public houses (The Centaur's Hoof and The Black Bludger) had opened and people were piling out with glasses of firewhiskey, flaming vodkas, blue larger, and many more beverages, some which Minerva could not name. Butterbeers were handed to the children and people began to dance and sing, cheering exultations and waving their wands high above their heads.

The celebrations continued well into the morning, and Minerva woke at sunrise in her dorm at the Magical Defence Force base with an outrageous headache and a fierce need for a full English breakfast and a strong cup of tea. She made her way down to the dining hall picking up the _Daily Prophet_ on her way, and lined up behind only three wizards queuing for breakfast.

The dining hall was much larger than the Great Hall at Hogwarts; not as welcoming, though not inhospitable either. Huge windows were embedded in the walls which led up to a high wooden beamed ceiling. There were about three hundred large round tables each of which seated about fifteen people and all were spread around the room. There was not one single chair present, as it was the policy of the dining room to magic yourself your own chair as you arrived, and this was exactly what Minerva did after she made her way to sit at one of these tables with her sizzling breakfast hovering next to her as she moved.

She waved her cup of tea and the plate full of bacon, eggs, sausages, cooked tomatoes, beans, (in short everything that an English breakfast should be and everything that would cure her of the irritating dull throb in her head) onto the table and waved her wand to create a comfortably cushioned, wooden chair. Sitting down she glanced for the first time at the front page of the _Prophet_.

It was as she expected, of course; celebrations of the victory of the war. She scanned the article and turned the page. Her composed expression turned to shock as she saw a large picture of Dumbledore looking rather uncomfortable as he stood surrounded by many wizards and witches, all of whom were high ranking members of the Ministry. The title of the article, written adjacent to the picture, read, 'Can a single wizard win a war?' Minerva began to read the article:

_Wizards yesterday learnt of the defeat of Grindelwald and consequently the end of the war as we know it. What they did not learn, however, was that a single wizard, Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was the only wizard to have glimpsed Grindelwald in the midst of his tyrannical reign. We have become aware that we owe the victory of this war almost entirely to one man. Dumbledore (pictured above) is this morning to receive an order of Merlin, First Class for his single-handed defeat of the dark wizard. He was not available for comment; however, the details of Grindelwald's downfall are to be released later this week in a statement given by our wizard of the hour; or perhaps we should say 'the century'. (Cont… p.7)_

Minerva read all this with her fork stationary, half way to her mouth. Dumbledore had left for Germany less than a month before the end of the war, right after Minerva communicated to him her thoughts about its unexpected duration. That thought made her feel uneasy.

She was unsure whether or not she should write to him with congratulations; she wanted to but was hesitant about whether or not he wanted to be congratulated. Contemplating her dilemma whilst she made her way through the delicious and much needed breakfast, she finally decided against the idea, feeling that the modesty of Dumbledore would make him feel uncomfortable at receiving such things.

x x x

_October 1955_

Minerva had remained in Egypt for ten years, returning one week before her thirtieth birthday. The amount she had encountered seemed unimaginable; she kept stumbling across something incredible that would consequently and consistently delay her return. The years spent in Egypt had by far been some of the most wonderful of her life. Bastet had taught her a great deal about her animagus transformations, and had even extended her tutorage as they worked on theories of transfiguration together, moving throughout Egypt and discovering what Bastet called the 'essence' of transfiguration.

Egypt had not been the limit of her travels however. She had toured the marvellous countries of Europe and the East, remaining in Greece for two years to teach, having obtained a professorship of Transfiguration in Athens. Her time away had most definitely not been spent in leisure.

Now she had returned to her parent's house in the highlands, far from muggle society and surrounded by the most magnificent hills and cliffs. Walking to the house was impossible; one was required to apparate to the large front gates which were heavy with rust and obscured by thick ivy climbing up from the walls and winding around the metal bars.

Minerva appeared with a small pop outside the gates with her luggage, light as air from a spell, clutched in her hand. She performed a fancy hand gesture and whispered a short charm to pass the security spells placed on the gates. They opened towards the house as if an invisible hand was pulling them in, and Minerva began to walk up the gravel path that lead to the house with the feeling of anxiety creeping into her.

She had been back in the house several times over the past few years, but her stays had been short and she was back in Egypt almost immediately. This time, however, she was to surprise her parents by telling them that she was back in Britain permanently, and this was the cause of her apprehension. Her walk up the path was steady. It was very early morning; daylight had only recently broken and the dawn chorus was the sound that accompanied her all the way up to the house.

The familiar large oak doors greeted her and she opened them quietly, slipping into the house stealthily, not wanting to awaken any of its occupants. She tiptoed her way through the dark house straight up to her old bedroom on the second floor, careful not to make a sound as she passed her parents' bedroom doors. With a several flicks of her wand she furnished her bed with fresh sheets, removed her robes and magicked on her nightclothes. She rolled into her bed and fell asleep immediately - lack of rest and the early hour plunging her into a deep slumber.

Minerva was awakened in the morning by the wonderful smell of breakfast floating up the stairs and into her bedroom. She stretched and rolled over, smiling at the thought of her parents faces as she joined them for breakfast. She picked up her dressing gown, threw it over her shoulders and began to make her way silently down the stairs.

It was much brighter as she walked through the house this time and she picked up on subtle alterations that had been made since she was away. As she walked down the corridor between her parents' room and her own she noticed that the painting of the highlands drawn by her father had been moved from its usual position on the corridor wall. She stepped down the first flight of stairs which fell broadly and magnificently down the centre of the house. As she reached the bottom of the stairs the landing then swooped around her on both sides and two flights of stairs then cascaded down the parallel walls and into the entrance hall. It was here that she found the painting. Minerva noticed it had been touched up slightly and was a glorious sight to see. The pattern on the rug in the entrance hall she noticed had also changed and the hall seemed to be much brighter than it ever had been.

Low tones could be heard coming from a room behind Minerva and she stepped around the stairs, walking through the hallway and reached a door on the left towards the back of the house. Peeping around the door she watched as her mother waved her wand at the whisk in the egg bowl whilst speaking to her father. Breathing deeply, Minerva pushed the door opened without hesitancy and said,

"So, what's for breakfast?"

-

The first few days with her parents had been wonderful. Minerva told them of her activities in Egypt and her travelling expeditions and teaching experiences in other countries whilst she was abroad, and they told her of the news she had missed since she had been away. One item had particularly ensnared her interest; Albus Dumbledore had been made Headmaster of Hogwarts this year and the position had been made ready for him for September just past. Unfortunately for Minerva a new teacher had already been hired for the Transfiguration post, one Professor Margery Badgerjack. Minerva decided she needed to reserve judgement on this new professor; however, a feeling of aversion had already sprung up within her – she had missed the chance for herself.

During these first few days back Minerva also went out hiking with her father to the highlands. He always brought his canvas and painting tools with him and would sit for hours on top of the mountains of The Blackmount in Rannoch Moor looking out over the lochs, taking in and painting the breath-taking scenery before him. Minerva would sit with him and would sometimes be in his paintings, alone in the vast emptiness of the Moor, sometimes standing, sometimes sitting and reading. Her figure on the canvas would always have its back to the viewer and its hair would frequently be blowing in the violent Scottish winds that were displayed expertly in the paintings.

As she sat by her father one morning, an open book laying forgotten in her lap with its pages blowing unconcerned in the strong breeze, Minerva gazed at the magnificent view before her. They were not cold as muggles would be because their cloaks had had warming charms placed upon them and Minerva's father had lit three airborne fires that gave off a surprising amount of heat for their size as the blue flames danced before them. They sat in silence for a moment until Minerva noticed her father's discomfort.

"What is it?" Minerva asked him softly, not taking her eyes from the mountains and lakes that were being transferred to perfection onto her father's canvas.

He sighed quickly and ceased his activity. Turning to Minerva he glanced at her with a request for forgiveness in his eyes.

"Your mother wants to have a party," he warned her.

This was nothing new to Minerva; her parents had had many parties in the past. Her father had started out always vehemently disagreeing with the idea, then as the years went on and the parties kept occurring no matter what he said, he simply became indifferent to them and never lifted a finger. Unknown to Minerva, however, this time was different.

"The party's for you," her father said, wincing slightly on behalf of his wife at the reaction of his daughter's angry eyes as they shot to his face. Her jaw clenched tightly and her nostrils flared furiously.

"What?" she asked in a low and dangerous tone.

"For your thirtieth and a celebration of your coming home," he told her.

"Does she not remember me specifically telling her that I do not want her to make a big deal over either?" Minerva asked in exasperation.

"I'm sorry, darling. I honestly tried to dissuade her this time, but you know how she gets. I would never have been able to persuade her otherwise – and neither will you," said her father, knowledgeable of his wife's stubborn personality and his daughter's current thoughts of attempting dissuade her mother from the idea.

Minerva sighed and knew that she would lose this battle. No matter how stubborn she herself was, her mother was equally so and the party would simply go ahead anyway; Minerva had no control over the matter. She turned her head from her father and looked out once more into the glorious heart of Scotland.


	11. The Party

_**The Party**_

_October 1955_

It was the day before Minerva's thirtieth birthday and she was standing in front of her bedroom mirror taking in the appearance of the new emerald robes her parents had bought for her as a 'welcome home' gift. She had to admit that they suited her very well; the top of the dress began off her shoulders and flowed elegantly down her figure to her toes. The sleeves were comfortably long and reached to her mid-palm on the inside of her hand and on the back of her hand transformed into a point, the tip of which extended just past the knuckle of her middle finger. Her hair had grown a great deal over the ten years she had been living abroad, and it now cascaded down her back; straight and shiny and black, and her skin was several shades darker from living under the African sun. She placed the glasses that she had acquired when she was working for the Magical Defence Force to rest on the tip of her nose, and she peered over them into the mirror at Sally'sreflection perched on the edge of Minerva's bed.

The two women had kept in touch over the years. Minerva had apparated to Hampshire for Sally and Charles' wedding many years earlier. The four friends, Blake included, were doing very well for themselves and would all be present at tonight's party.

"Well, Sally," said Minerva, "what can you do to my hair?"

Sally leapt from the bed in the very girlish manner that had not been lost since her school days, and picked up her wand from the huge, oak dresser that lay opposite the bed. She had to wave her wand several times before Minerva was happy with the outcome. She looked into the mirror once more and a pleased smiled formed on her face. Her hair had been scraped back out of her eyes and pulled up into an attractive, twisted knot. Minerva turned to Sally and gave her thanks. Sally then magicked her own robes onto her very skinny form – robes of deep maroon with sleeves long enough to rival Minerva's, and a stylish v-neck. Her blonde hair reached her shoulders in neat waves and brought out the magnificent blue of her eyes. Her engagement and wedding rings glittered and shone excitedly in the light from the fire in Minerva's room.

"You look very pretty, Sally," Minerva complimented sweetly.

Sally smiled and returned the praise, commenting on the renewed brightness of Minerva's stunningly green eyes since she had been absent.

The first ring of the doorbell came just before eight o'clock – Charles and Blake had arrived together. It had been the first time the four friends were together since the wedding of Charles and Sally. It was a happy and emotional reunion. Sally's tears (the only ones that were shed) were wiped away tenderly by her husband as he gave her shoulders a quick squeeze.

One of the family house elves then moved the group swiftly into the magnificent dinning hall, which had been cleared of the huge dining table and replaced with many smaller but higher tables scattered around. The elf entered entered behind the group with a tray lifted high above her head full of glasses of a variety of wines.

The number of guests grew rapidly and by ten o'clock there were probably around two hundred witches and wizards wandering through the distinguished McGonagall house. Minerva was enjoying herself immensely despite the fact that she was against the party to begin with. She sat with Sally, Charles and Blake for the majority of the night as they reacquainted themselves with one another and caught up on details of their lives over the past few years. She had made the required polite greetings to all who entered, some of whom she took pleasure in talking to, some whom she could not escape from fast enough to find her mother and demand the reason as to their invite.

Dancing commenced a short while after ten, and as the party was in aid of Minerva, she was asked to dance a little too frequently for her liking. While enjoying the party, she began to tire quickly and so was required to decline several offers from many influential wizards. The doorbell continued to ring late into the night, adding still more guests to the apparently indefatigable existing ones.

At half past eleven a great noise of exclamation was heard at the front doors causing Minerva to wish to discover the source of the commotion. After she entered the hallway she saw a crowd of people gathered round a witch or wizard with a tall pointed purple hat that was bowing repeatedly at its admirers.

"Please excuse me," Minerva heard a familiar voice say beneath the clamour of the people surrounding him.

A way was made for Dumbledore to walk through between the witches and wizards who were still not relenting in their demands for his attention. Dumbledore, however, politely dislodged himself from them and his eyes found Minerva as he walked further into the hallway. Standing before her he held out his hand as he had done the last time she saw him over ten years ago, and she gently slipped hers into it.

"Miss McGonagall," said Dumbledore tenderly. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"Good evening, Professor," she said.

They stood there for a few moments taking in each others' appearance. Dumbledore's hair and beard had grown much longer and now showed definite signs of his age - they were a deep grey colour and seemed to help emanate more dominance and power through his appearance than before. He had a few more lines on his face, though his eyes had managed to keep hold of their uniquely distinct twinkle.

Minerva saw Dumbledore's eyes pass over her own face. She had always thought her face plain but had often been told over the years that an air of mystery was laced into its features, and it seemed that this was the very aspect that was intriguing the man whose eyes were now sweeping across it, analysing the intelligent and enigmatic qualities it governed.

"I do believe you are glowing, Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore said merrily, interrupting the surprisingly comfortable silence that had transpired.

Minerva smiled shyly and looked down, breaking her gaze from his charming face and was thankful that he had not patronised her by commenting on how she had grown since he last saw her, although she was sure he had noticed her transformation from girl to woman. It was as she looked down that she noticed their hands still together in a gentle hold. She removed hers delicately from his clasp.

"Thank you, sir," she responded.

She lifted her eyes and looked back to Dumbledore's face. In the brief moment of silence that followed, Dumbledore took a step closer to Minerva and said, "I want to thank you for your help in the war." His voice was soft and deep as he spoke. "I have not spoken to you since the evening that I left for Germany and it has been playing on my mind that I never suitably thanked you for being the one who gained Ministry attention. The world would be a very different, tormented place had you not used your skill as you did."

"I had help," Minerva stated, surprised and uncomfortable with the heavy praise she was receiving from the most respected wizard in Britain. "_You_ urged me to do something in the first place, and the others who were involved in the protests deserve an equal amount of recognition."

"Recognition, of course, but not equal, Miss McGonagall - You surpass them all," replied Dumbledore simply and openly, pinning her under his intense gaze. Minerva thought she detected a slight hint of admiration in his tone, though she disregarded it and instead accepted it as gratitude for her efforts.

"That's just like me saying to you that you alone won the war," she responded. "And I know you wouldn't like that."

"A just and fair point; though my gratitude for your help does not diminish. _You_ knew we were not headed for immediate victory unlike all the others. Would _they_ have persevered in their protests knowing that the war would perhaps last for years? And yet you, knowing this, even though you did not quite accept it at first, maintained the will to fight, even in a war whose end you knew to be far-off and whose outcome you knew to be uncertain."

Minerva did not respond to this immediately. Dumbledore's praise was extreme and her discomfort was increasing.

"I am very grateful for your praise, sir, but it comes in excess. Please let us move on. The war is over," Minerva pleaded, her eyes imploring him for a release from the subject.

Dumbledore nodded as he heeded her entreaty and the topic was quickly changed.

"I wish to hear of your spine-tingling adventures abroad before the night is over but when we have more time." Dumbledore said exuberantly. "How is your father?"

This question led to Minerva showing Dumbledore into the Dining Hall in order to take him to her father. However, six witches and wizards quickly accosted him at the entrance. He greeted them courteously and Minerva slipped away, breathing somewhat erratically from what she supposed was the feeling of nervousness Dumbledore always seems to stir in her.

As midnight approached the enthusiasm of the crowd increased. The drinks that had been coming in a steady flow now ceased as the house elves prepared the Purple Rose champagne and handed each witch and wizard over the age of seventeen a beautifully designed glass full of the hissing bright purple liquid with red sparks shooting from it.

Minerva's father called her to him, and as midnight struck a chorus of 'For She's a Jolly Good Fellow' rang out of the crowd and sailed into every nook and cranny of the entire house. Minerva then had to endure a stream of people coming up to her wishing her 'Happy Birthday', many from the Ministry of Magic or St. Mungo's telling her they would owl her about certain jobs in which they believed she would be superior in. All Minerva wanted to do was dance merrily with her friends and convey to Dumbledore some of the events of her time abroad.

Sally, Charles and Blake were all dancing while Minerva was respectfully accepting the felicitations of her fellow guests. Dumbledore was engaged in discussions with her father. The two wizards had been friends for many years and she assumed that her father was the one who had invited her old professor to the celebration. At ten past midnight the two wizards moved through the throng towards her.

"May I have this dance, Minerva? Your first dance as a thirty year old," her father asked with a wobbly bow and an offer of his left hand because his right held a glass of firewhiskey.

Dumbledore stood by and watched as Minerva's father led his smiling daughter to the dance floor.

"Happy Birthday, darling," he said, his kilt swinging worryingly with the wild movements of his dance.

"Thank you," she responded laughing, as she was swung around the floor with the other couples.

"Are you having a good night?" he asked her, eager in his hopes that she would reply in the affirmative.

"I am having a wonderful night," she expressed sincerely. "I'm so glad to be back."

Her father smiled and they completed the dance with happy chatter about the night's events.

He then led her to back through the crowd with some difficulty towards Dumbledore who was pretending to admire the pink, red and orange, furry shawl that a witch was parading for him.

"Pardon me," Minerva heard Dumbledore say, as he moved away from the witch after seeing Minerva and her father make their way over to him.

"Many happy returns, Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore said graciously as he approached them.

Minerva opened her mouth to express her thanks, but her father seemed to have something more important to say.

"Oh for God's sake, man," he interrupted in a Scottish accent that had been made stronger by a night's worth of firewhiskey. "She's not one of your students any more; you are not strangers who have to keep up with formal manners. Call her by her name you old-fashioned codger."

"I beg your pardon, Micheil," Dumbledore said. "Some habits are difficult to overcome – Congratulations, Minerva."

"Thank you, Professor," she finally responded, her cheeks developing a glow from what she assumed was the discomfort her father was creating.

Her father rolled his eyes.

"Oh, call him Al–"

"Micheil!"

It was a shrill, harsh voice from the crowd that interrupted Minerva's father. An elderly witch had just come through the crowd dressed in a hideous yellow-green robe and flaunting large jewels, some that were heavily draped around her neck and wrists and some embedded in rings that were fixed too tightly around her chunky fingers. Minerva had to turn away in order that her aversion to such things would go unnoticed by the lady. Her father was immediately swept away and Minerva and Dumbledore looked at each other and smiled.

"I must take my leave, Minerva," Dumbledore said regretfully.

"So soon, sir?" she asked, feeling unexpected disappointment and wondering why he was leaving less than an hour after he had arrived and before she had had time to discuss her travels with him.

"I am afraid so. But before I go I would like to see you transform. Ten years should be sufficient to perfect your form, I hope," he said, his eyes twinkling with jest.

"As you wish, but not here," Minerva replied. "I have no plans to make a spectacle of myself."

Dumbledore's lips pricked at the corners as she glared at him. She walked out of the dining hall knowing he would follow, and led him to a room off the entrance hall. She entered and took in the familiar surroundings. The large windows were the only objects that interrupted the flow of the numerous shelves of books that were stacked high and covered every available inch of wall. In the middle of the room was a large table with copious scrolls and books lying open upon it. Minerva looked at the table and sighed through her nostrils in exasperation at her father's chaotic work environment.

As Dumbledore moved in front of her and further into the room Minerva's curiosity could not be suppressed any longer.

"How do you like your new position at Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore chuckled as he strolled leisurely around the room while she stood by the door allowing him the freedom to fulfil his curiosity. He took a few musky books off the shelves and flicked through them, careful, she noticed, to place them back exactly as he had found them.

"Micheil has been elaborating on life while you were away I see." He smiled and looked back at her. "I am enjoying it enormously. There is something new and stimulating every day and people think I am a lot more important than I actually am." His eyes twinkled at his jest, both of them knowing that the magical community's admiration for him was not entirely due to his promotion.

Minerva watched him as he stopped by the chair that she had placed next to the window on the far side of the room years before. Dumbledore gazed out of the window which overlooked the vast grounds of the McGonagall estate and beyond them to the mountains of Scotland; a view that was so familiar to her.

"Marvellous!" Dumbledore declared enthusiastically to the room.

After giving him some time to soak in the glorious view, Minerva asked, "And what of the famous Professor Margery Badgerjack?" She did not know whether or not she wanted to hear the answer.

Seconds after Dumbledore turned to face her and before he could say another word, Minerva transformed with elegance and perfection into her animagus form, suddenly deciding that she did not want to hear his response. She padded over to him and jumped up onto her chair that he was still standing next to. She looked up at him from her tiny form and he leant down and grazed the tips of his fingers over the soft fur on her head.

"A seamless transformation, Miss McGonagall," confirmed Dumbledore, unaware of the slip back into his old habit of using her formal name.

She jumped down from the chair, a little wobbly on her feet from not having been a cat for several months, and transformed back into her natural form in front of him.

As a cat their proximity had seemed like a vast expanse of space. Now, however, because Minerva had been unsteady, she found herself as a witch only inches away from her former professor. The surprise of both was evident, though neither immediately moved away. Minerva's stomach quivered from their sudden closeness as she looked up towards his face. His lips were a little apart and she saw his brow faintly furrow. She half noticed his right arm move then quickly fall back into place. Aware that her pulse had become rather faster than usual, she took a step back from him.

"I must be on my way," he said in an almost breathless whisper.

"Yes, sir," she replied.

"Goodbye, Minerva."

Minerva smiled.

"Thank you for coming."

Dumbledore walked swiftly towards the door from the library to the entrance hall and as he opened it the sounds of the party filtered through the gap. Minerva felt no desire to rejoin the party. She made no move to follow Dumbledore and as he closed the door behind him with a small click, Minerva was enclosed in silence.


	12. A Hogwart's Invite

_**A Hogwart's Invite**_

_December 1956_

In the year after her thirtieth birthday, Minerva had drawn together all the information she had gathered from her work abroad and began writing a paper entitled _An Investigation into the Egyptian Methods and Modes of Transfiguration and how they Acted as a Stimulus for Western Magic as we know it Today._ The paper took a little over a year to write with all the notes at hand and with the memories fresh in her mind, and it was published with much critical acclaim from the magical community in the November of '56. Minerva discovered through a letter from Bastet, her mentor and friend, that the article had made its way to Egypt. Bastet had described how favourably Minerva's work had been received by the authorities, particularly in Cairo, and how knowledge of her talent and intelligence had spread through the academic circles of the country.

At this moment, however, all thoughts of the paper had been driven out of her mind and Minerva was hurrying through the icy streets of London. They were less busy than usual due to the cold winter weather. The snow was falling so thick around her it was as if sodden cotton wool was being thrown by some furious creature from inside the menacing grey clouds in the overcast sky. Once more Minerva drew her cloak tightly around her; she turned into a side road and hurried down a completely deserted lane which led away from the town.

The lane was narrow and the paving uneven with cobbles, and Minerva found herself enclosed between two rows of terrace houses towering high above her. Every single outdoor window sill was disguised under a thick mound of snow, as were the hanging baskets that were swinging in the fierce wind as they dangled aimlessly from the walls, their contents now frozen and lifeless. The wind was hurling itself down the lane which was now acting in the fashion of a wind tunnel, and Minerva had to fight to push her way through the harsh, resisting wind, leaning into it as she struggled onward.

Turning another corner the howling wind suddenly stopped. She slumped against the dry wall that had not been touched by the angry weather because of its over hanging thatched roof which was now one of the things protecting Minerva from the biting blizzard. She pressed her hand to her chest as she made every effort to catch the breath that had annoyingly escaped her in the struggle against the raging weather.

Irritation invaded Minerva's being at the thought of why Dumbledore had to choose The Dancing Muggle of all places to meet, why it had to be at this time, and that it was because of this that she was in the middle of a snowstorm.

The thing that frustrated every witch and wizard when they made their minds up to come to this place was that, due to the fact that the pub was such a famous place within the magical community, one could not apparate in front of it because it is infuriatingly situated in the middle of a muggle inhabited setting. Any magical person who wishes to go there has to apparate nearby and pass through the streets of London so that hoards of witches and wizards do not suddenly appear out of thin air surrounded by inquisitive muggles. If any muggle was to scrutinize the area the pub was situated in, they would still see a pub, but it would appear boarded up and abandoned.

Minerva's face was pink and raw from the fierce cold and wind; her eyes were running and the constant need to bring out her handkerchief was beginning to frustrate her. She blew her nose once again, sniffed and, bringing her cloak even tighter around her, continued with her journey.

After some fifteen minutes of fast-paced walking Minerva turned the final corner and saw her destination. The firelight radiating from the windows of The Dancing Muggle was an unimaginably welcome sight. She felt her throat tighten with excitement and her stomach give a rushing lurch of pleasure as she made her way towards the pub's entrance.

As Minerva pushed the door open a huge rush of warm musty air surged out and welcomingly surrounded her. She smelt the distinct odour of alcohol balanced on the air, and heard the raucous laughter of the inhabitants of the pub, which was then followed by shouts in Minerva's direction, ordering her to close the door to prevent the heat escaping and impede the incoming chill.

She closed the door quickly behind her and, looking back into the pub, spotted her companion immediately in a far corner hidden in the shadows, presumably to elude the attentions of the social climbing wizards and witches.

She recognised him from the lower half of his long, grey beard that still lingered in the lamplight, and from his long legs which were stretched out underneath the table and draped in subtle, deep burgundy robes that had been drawn upward slightly revealing a pair of lime green socks. Minerva smiled and she made her way through the rowdy crowd towards him. Dumbledore stood to greet her.

"My dear Minerva, I am so glad you came. Your journey was not too excruciating I hope," he said graciously.

"It was vastly unpleasant, Professor." She replied with blunt honesty but with a hint of humour in her eyes. "However," she continued, "my intrigue at your summoning me here has far outweighed any annoyance I had about the weather."

"Straight to the point I see," Dumbledore responded, looking over his spectacles at her with amusement, his eyes sparkling in the merrily crackling firelight. "Sit, please."

Minerva sat at the table in the section that was immersed in light from the fire close by in the grate, and Dumbledore chose to return to his seat situated almost completely in shadow.

"Drinks?" asked the gruff voice of a man who was coming toward them from the bar and staring at Dumbledore. He had unnervingly piercing, yellow eyes and Minerva noticed him limp, dragging his right leg behind him when he made his way over to them.

"Gillywater, please," Minerva replied.

"And I'll have a Sleeping dragon," added Dumbledore.

The barman nodded at them and then stared back at Dumbledore for several long seconds. Dumbledore looked back at him, his eyebrows high in expectation.

After a while in the strange silence Dumbledore said politely, "That will be all, thank you."

The barman made an odd throaty noise, nodded again, and then limped his way back to the bar. Minerva watched him walk away with her brow crinkled at the stranger's peculiar actions. She turned back to Dumbledore to find him looking at her with a small smile.

"Never fear," he told her. "Forgive my immodesty but it is no longer a strange occurrence for people to act with blatant amazement when they see me."

"He was rude," Minerva responded indignantly and her nostrils flared. "He didn't need to stare at you like that."

Dumbledore smiled again and shrugged.

"Clearly I am a wonder among men."

Minerva smiled at Dumbledore's light-hearted reaction and jest to what she thought was probably a great annoyance to him. The barman had reached the bar, said a few brief words to his colleagues (one of which looked a surprising shade of maroon), and turned his head back towards their table. The other bar staff followed their co-worker's eye line and all pinned Dumbledore with a stare of wonder. Minerva's eyes widened with irate astonishment at the staff's unashamed behaviour and Dumbledore chuckled beside her as her face took on an expression of incredulity.

"Pay them no attention, Minerva." Dumbledore pleasantly insisted. "For that is all they are after, is it not? Now," he continued, as pleasantly as if there were no rude strangers taking a profound interest in him and his companion, "I would like to ask you a question I asked you long ago."

This mysterious statement seized Minerva's attention immediately and, though she had not forgotten their unconcealed audience, her eyes were now transfixed upon the man at her side. Her interest was required to have slightly more patience however, because the yellow-eyed barman was limping back to them with their drinks balanced precariously on a tray in his unsteady hands.

Minerva's curiosity had grown at Dumbledore's words and she did not wish to interrupt his flow; she merely very briefly thanked the barman then looked immediately back to Dumbledore and raised her eyebrows in question.

"Would you consider coming back to Hogwarts to teach?" Dumbledore asked promptly and simply.

Minerva tried to steady the excitement that was now rising rapidly in her stomach.

"Are you asking me to come back?" she asked. "Are you offering me a position?"

"I am," replied Dumbledore. "A position has been made available quite suddenly as you see, and many people expressed their satisfaction when your name arose. You have a professorship, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir," she replied. "I taught for a while in Athens when I was away."

"Marvellous," Dumbledore exclaimed cheerfully. "And will you consider my offer?"

"Professor, I– "

Minerva stopped abruptly as she noticed Dumbledore shift in his seat and his brow crinkle fleetingly. He was back to normal a second later however, though Minerva had picked up on his discomfort of the formality.

"Albus."

Dumbledore's eyes shot to hers instantly and she continued with the pretence of being unaware of his pleasant surprise.

"I have neither forgotten nor changed my desire to be a teacher at Hogwarts. I told you once that I had much to do before I would consider teaching there, and I feel that what I have accomplished and experienced since that time is enough. For now," she added. "I am sure my own studies will never cease."

"One can never stop learning, Minerva. Only the way one goes about it can change."

"I agree," she replied, her expression remaining neutral but with a glow of happiness in her eyes. "What's the position?"

Minerva tried to snuff the niggling hope that was tickling the back of her mind and trying to force its way through to the forefront - that the transfiguration post was vacant. Dumbledore smiled. Minerva appreciated his swift response.

"Professor Badgerjack has replaced Professor Astrum as Astronomy Teacher due to the unfortunate maiming of the latter by a hag." Minerva raised her eyebrows. Dumbledore continued as if he had simply stated a humdrum fact. "Therefore the Transfiguration post is currently unoccupied."


	13. Professor McGonagall

_**Professor McGonagall**_

_December 1956_

"It seems so strange being back in the castle again," said Charles as he waved his wand at Minerva's dressing table and moved it over into the corner she had specified.

"Not to mention being in the teaching quarters," Sally remarked in her customary excitable Irish tone. "Have you seen Dumbledore yet?"

"Not yet," Minerva replied. "Not since he offered me the post."

"It's so great that you were recommended!" Sally exclaimed.

"Yeah, congratulations again, Minerva," said Charles. "Your reputation is obviously being paid attention to by the people who matter."

Minerva smiled. Her paper had done wonders for her reputation and she had had many people seeking her services for their various organisations and departments; though only one had mattered, and most people had seemed to know which.

"I've got them, Minerva."

Blake came stumbling through the door with rolls and rolls of parchment piled in his arms which were the remaining documents Minerva had to sign before next week's start of lessons. "Oh and I brought something else too."

Minerva had seen the 'something else' before Blake had said anything, and she smiled as Dumbledore stepped over the threshold.

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall," he said, smiling broadly. "Settling in well, I hope?"

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," Sally said, and afterwards received a gentle elbow in the side from Charles.

"Good morning, Miss Aisling. Ah, my apologies – Mrs. Goddard."

Sally grinned and looked at Charles. He rolled his eyes but then chuckled and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

"Hello, sir," Charles then said, holding his hand out to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore took it with a smile and said, "All's well with the muggles I hope, Mr Goddard."

"Never better, sir. We're in the calm before the storm, I think," he replied.

A titter reverberated round the room and Dumbledore looked back to Minerva.

"Is everything to your satisfaction, Minerva?"

Ignoring the wide eyed looks of her three companions at the informal mention of Minerva's first name, she replied, "Yes, sir, thank you. The rooms are much bigger than we all expected."

"Ah well," Dumbledore responded with feigned innocence. "Someone may have tweaked it in the interlude between staff." A smile was exchanged between the two professors. Dumbledore continued, "Dinner is at the usual time and place, Minerva; unless you would like to remain here and dine with your friends?"

"We have to be off I'm afraid, sir," Charles said, placing his arms around Sally's shoulders, indicating her as well.

"As do I," Blake added. "A popular store cannot run itself."

"I thought your father was there?" Minerva asked.

"Yes, he is," Blake replied disapprovingly with one eyebrow raised high. "As I said…"

"Well then," said Dumbledore, breaking the uncomfortable silence that followed Blake's reproach of his father, "I'll see you at dinner, Minerva. The rest of you take jolly good care of yourselves."

Minerva watched Dumbledore step back over the threshold and depart from the room, and then turned back to her friends.

"I didn't know you had to go," she said to Charles and Sally with a feeling of regret.

"Well, we don't really," Charles answered, removing his arm from around Sally's shoulders and turning back to Minerva's dressing table. "Only I thought you might want to spend your first evening with Professor – with the professors."

"I suppose you're right," Minerva responded. "It might seem rude if I'm absent from my first dinner as teacher."

"As Professor McGonagall," Sally added, with an eager grin.

The four friends worked for the next couple of hours organising Minerva's living quarters. A bedroom was attached by two double doors to a living room, and coming off the living room was a study in which Minerva and Sally were now arranging Minerva's books onto the plentiful shelves.

The study was large for a single person, which meant it was just the right size for Minerva. Like the library at her parents' home in Scotland the room had shelves completely covering all the walls. There were six walls in all, giving the room an odd shape for anywhere but Hogwarts. The carpet was green and the furniture mahogany, lending the room the scholarly feeling Minerva felt so comfortable in. There was a leather armchair close to a huge window that faced south, and an enormous fireplace in the centre of one of the walls to the left of the window which gave a flickering orange light to the entire room, save the four corners of its own wall.

Minerva and Sally quickly finished arranging the books; it was an easy job because they simply had to tell the books what they wanted and where to go. After admiring the books' wonderful ability at following orders, they then moved from Minerva's study and into the living room where Charles and Blake were busy arranging Minerva's father's paintings on her walls.

"The one of Hogwarts should go above the fireplace, I think," Minerva heard Charles say.

"But what about the one of Minerva with that book," Blake replied. "Where's it gone?" he asked himself, looking around.

He was searching the few canvases to locate the desired painting when Sally took a step forward and made to comment, but Minerva held her back, wishing to observe the result of the men's dilemma.

"Blake," Charles said, rolling his eyes and chuckling as Blake levitated the painting with his wand. "Can you imagine Minerva having a painting of herself as the centrepiece in her own room?"

Blake laughed in response and said, "Well, perhaps it would seem rather narcissistic."

"Dumbledore would probably like it," Charles replied and the two men laughed.

"That's enough of that," Minerva interrupted, snappishly. "I'll have _that _one over the fire."

Charles whipped his head around, looking rather relieved that Minerva had chosen not to comment on his final remark, although he began to feel somewhat uneasy at her thinning white lips and flaring nostrils. She marched past him over to the picture her father had painted of their favourite bench situated against the side-wall of an old wand shop that was covered with the brilliant autumn red leaves of ivy, some of which had the tiniest hints of yellow-green at the stalks. In front of the bench was an old-fashioned, narrow cobbled lane in a wizarding village behind Blackmount in Rannoch Moor. The village was completely disguised to muggles with help from the mountains of the Moor and the usual mist that was often present, and of course a touch of magic. It was a wonderful painting and captured the charming essence of the village perfectly. Minerva's tense features began to soften.

"Good choice, Minerva," Blake said, a smile threatening at stretch his lips as Minerva levitated the painting with her wand.

"Right," she said, after straightening the picture above the fireplace. "What time is it?"

"Half six," Charles told her. "I suppose we should be off then."

"Thanks for coming and helping," Minerva said.

"It's fine," Sally added, pulling Minerva into a tight hug. "I'll really miss you, Minerva. You always seem to be the one going away."

Minerva smiled and pulled out of the hug.

"I'll come and visit when I can, I promise," said Minerva, with another smile at Sally's consistently emotional farewells.

She embraced Charles and Blake (and Sally again) with further promises of letters and visits. Watching them depart, Minerva felt a bizarre mixture of emotions – excitement and woe.

x x x

The good weekend moods of the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry could be heard for miles of corridor before one reached the Great Hall. As Minerva's steps drew her closer, predictably the riotous voices of hundreds of pupils grew louder and louder, and Minerva's nerves grew more unsteady.

As she walked amongst several groups of first years heading towards the Hall, no one seemed to notice her; presumably they believed her to be a teacher whom they had simply not come across yet. She therefore used this lack of regard to regain her composure. She breathed deeply through her nostrils, clenched her jaw and quickened her pace as the main doors of the Great Hall came into view. She turned left down a narrow corridor just before the doors and set off towards the staff entrance.

It was quieter here. The thick, heavy tapestries of the victories and defeats of battles that clothed the walls muffled the noise around her, and the cold stone of the narrow floor and low ceiling cooled the breeze that fluttered down the corridor.

Minerva pushed the small but thick-set wooden door at the end of the corridor which then opened in the middle of a wall in a room about a third the size of the Great Hall. The room had a high ceiling and several fires were blazing in their grates all around, making the room appear as though it was moving in fits and starts. The room was void of any furniture save four tables at elbow-height for members of staff to stand around with their drinks before or after their meals, should they wish to.

"_Professor_ McGonagall," The familiar voice sounded from Minerva's left. She turned and attached the voice to its rightful owner. "Good evening," said Slughorn. "Nervous, eh? Never you mind about that."

Professor Slughorn was the last person with whom Minerva wished to have a conversation, especially because his assumption of her mindset was now entirely false, for she had calmed her nerves and anticipation of the evening had replaced them. Annoyance flashed up inside her at his comment; her lips thinned and her nostrils flared for the second time that evening.

"Nervous I may be if I was facing a hall full of screaming warriors," she replied sharply. "As it happens, I am simply going to eat my dinner amongst noisy students. Do you usually become nervous at such things? Pity," she added, and then left before he could respond.

She knew that her comments were impolite, but the joy she felt at being able to openly talk with Slughorn as an equal and not with the result of being punished with a detention was worth the lifted eyebrow and the 'tut' of the two witches close by, whom she did not recognise but assumed to be members of the Hogwarts teaching staff.

Minerva walked towards the door in the corner of the wall to her right on the far side of the room, behind which she knew lay the Great Hall and all the students of Hogwarts. She had just reached the door when, all of a sudden, her spine straightened and her shoulder blades quivered as she felt a presence materialize behind her. She turned and as she did so saw the twinkling eyes and soft smile of Dumbledore dressed in royal blue robes embroidered with a spiralling silver pattern made from a material she had never seen before; it looked like liquidised silver and had a shine to match the glint in his eyes.

Minerva had taken in a quick, audible breath when she turned, and so released it steadily as she relaxed in his presence.

"Ready to face you latest challenge?" Dumbledore said softly.

"As always," replied Minerva, sounding surprisingly certain to her ears, which made her feel even more sure of her confidence.

Dumbledore moved to her left side and pushed the door open with his hand, holding it wide enough for her to pass through before him. As she passed she felt his long beard tickle her arm and his breath swim just under the rim of her hat, and she felt poise sail through every vein of her being. Lifting her chin, Minerva took several confident steps forward to her designated seat (the far end but one) at the staff table.

x x x

"…and then I vanished to a room on the sixth floor inside the castle!"

A roar of laughter went up in the room off the Great Hall, mixed with several impressed 'oohs'. Dinner was over and it had not done its build up any justice. It was uneventful apart from Dumbledore's announcement of the new Transfiguration teacher which came with an applause that was rather louder than Minerva had expected. She had even heard a few students in the sea of black hats 'whoop' for her. In the few moments after dinner, however, the situation had been entirely different. Around one of the high tables Slughorn had begun to tell the story of Minerva's Relocation Dome in her final year to an attentive audience of a few members of staff, including the two witches she had seen in the same room just before dinner.

Minerva was not embarrassed in the slightest; why should she be? She received several astounded looks from a few of the teachers and it would be a good starting point in a conversation with them. A short, dumpy looking witch left the small group around Slughorn and Minerva watched as she waddled up to her. Her eyes were a fantastic shade of pure violet and her hair seemed to be blacker than the pitch night as it sprang loosely just below her shoulders as she walked. She had a very pretty face and Minerva was trying to recall whether or not she had ever come across her before because she could not be much older than Minerva herself.

"Professor McGonagall?" the witch asked in a deep, husky voice, as though she had a sore throat.

Minerva nodded and smiled politely at the pretty witch who was at this point standing opposite, and Minerva now observed that her eyes shone like purple jewels in firelight.

"I'm Margery Badgerjack – the new astronomy professor." She spoke quickly but clearly and with what Minerva could only describe as 'oomph'. She held out her hand to Minerva, who took it with surprise. In her mind Professor Badgerjack had born more of a resemblance to an aunt (also named Margery) whom Minerva had never exactly seen eye to eye with. This aunt had been tall and as thin as a wand with flaming red hair, very pale skin and deep brown eyes.

"How do you do?" said Minerva, conquering her surprise immediately and shaking Badgerjack's hand.

"Looking forward to your new classes?" Badgerjack asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, said, "They're all right really. You just have to make sure they respect you instantly and you're unscathed for the rest of their school years."

Minerva joined in Badgerjack's chuckle and replied, "Thank you, I'll bear that in mind."

Another laugh erupted from Slughorn's group and Badgerjack turned to watch them, her eyes narrowed.

"A right character, that Slughorn, isn't he?" she said. It wasn't meant as a question and Minerva stayed silent. "He wasn't here when I was at school. Started the year I left, I think – thirty, was it?"

"I'm not sure," Minerva replied, then noting that Badgerjack was a student at Hogwarts several years before Minerva; they would have never crossed paths. "It was around that time. He'd been here for a few years before I joined in thirty six."

"Hmm. I read your paper, by the way," Badgerjack revealed. "It was astounding. I'm not surprised your name has been at the top of Dumbledore's list for Merlin knows how many years. I'm not aware of any other witch or wizard even being mentioned until it was certain you weren't available. I'd like to discuss your work with you when you have a free moment, if that's ok with you?"

This one was a question. "Of course," Minerva responded with zeal. "I'd be glad too."

"Wonderful!" Badgerjack exclaimed. "Ah, Dumbledore."

For the second time that evening, Dumbledore had made an appearance behind Minerva, and once again a shiver had straightened her spine.

"Good evening, Margery; Minerva," Dumbledore said, touching his hand to his hat in greeting. "Marvellous meal was it not?" he asked happily, bouncing once on the balls of his feet.

"Delicious, Dumbledore," Badgerjack replied energetically.

"Very nice," said Minerva, characteristically not overdoing her praise.

"I wonder if I could have a quick tête-à-tête for a short moment with you, Minerva," Dumbledore inquired. "I shan't keep you new friend long, Margery," Dumbledore told Badgerjack with a smile, and Minerva felt his hand enclose around her arm just above her right elbow as he gently tugged her towards the door that led into the draughty corridor Minerva had walked through on her way to dinner.

The door opened of its own accord, as if knowing that someone wished to exit the room. Dumbledore guided Minerva through, still with his hand on her arm and then nudged her gently forward so that she could walk ahead of him in the narrow corridor, which was too small it seemed to allow two people to walk abreast.

The tapestries once again made the silence deepen as the two professors walked through, and muffled the sound of Minerva's heels that were gently tapping on the stone surface. She could feel Dumbledore's presence behind her the whole time although not one sound escaped from him; his breathing was not audible, neither were his shoes nor his cloak. It would have been as if no one was there if Minerva could not feel her skin prickling at the base of her neck.

She stepped out of the corridor and turned back, lifting an eyebrow in question. Dumbledore joined her in the Entrance Hall and gestured to his right up the stairs and into a much wider and warmer corridor than the one they had just abandoned. It was then that Minerva knew where she was being taken. The path they were walking was the same path she had taken almost every day for seven years; the one which had led her to her favourite subject and Dumbledore's lessons.

They stopped just outside the door to the Transfiguration classroom. Minerva noticed that Dumbledore stepped back to give her space and privacy. She took a deep breath causing her nostrils to gently expand, and let it out slowly through a tiny gap in her lips. She began to feel aware of every inch of her skin and could feel her blood reach the tips of her fingers and toes as it coursed through her veins. In an act that caused her to feel each individual molecule of air brush against her arm, she lifted her hand to the doorknob and felt the sharp coolness of metal against her palm and fingers, and with some effort turned it until she heard it click.

The door itself was not as heavy as she remembered as she pushed it open and stepped into her new classroom. Half aware that Dumbledore followed only as far as the threshold and didn't enter with her, she swept her eyes over every part of the room; _her_ room. There were about thirteen desks in total which could seat two students each, the dark mahogany finish shining brightly. These all faced a much larger desk, polished in the same way but appearing much grander than its onlookers. In this desk there were six drawers, three each side of a large chair which also had the same dark finish but included a deep red cushioned seat and backrest. There were wood carvings and engravings on its arms and around the cushion on the backrest which matched the legs of the desk it stood with.

The rest of the room was bare; quite different to the way it had been when she had first glimpsed it. At that time there had been all sorts of contraptions surrounding Minerva and her classmates; some sent small puffs of clouds floating into the air, others shimmered and shook and caused many students' eyes to tire if they stared for too long, and even more devices simply stood stationary, but looked peculiar as they remained immobile.

"It is yours to do as you please." Dumbledore's voice floated softly to Minerva's ears from behind her by the door, and she welcomed it gratefully.

"I shall," she replied, turning to face him. "Thank you."

As Minerva looked at him a silence grew between them. Neither knew what to say at such a moment of appreciation; one felt gratitude for the offer of a job she would give a lifetime to fulfil, the other a heartfelt contentment becasue the woman before him had finally accepted his offer.

Minerva struggled to find words in her mind and therefore threw the verbally complex topic aside and picked a feeling out of her mind that was just forming; thirst.

"Do you want to stay for a drink, Pro– Albus?" Minerva asked. "You look as though you are about to leave. Why don't you come in?"

The answer was given in Dumbledore's step over the threshold into Minerva's classroom. Standing next to her chair, Minerva waved her wand and a hot chocolate and a cup of lemon tea appeared on coasters on her desk. Dumbledore also waved his wand and a second chair, more cushioned than Minerva's, appeared at the front of the desk. He took his seat only after Minerva had taken hers. She watched as he picked up his hot chocolate, closed his eyes and sighed comfortably into his newly created chair.

Minerva also sat back in her new chair. She had picked up her tea, holding it in her two hands with her elbows resting on the chair arms, and was cooling the hot drink by blowing upon the surface. She peered at Dumbledore over the glasses resting near the tip of her nose. He opened his eyes and smiled cheerfully at her.

"I hope you have plans to do remarkable things to this dreary room, Minerva," said Dumbledore.

One corner of Minerva's lips tweaked upwards. "I'm not sure about remarkable," she said, "but I'll certainly do my best to make it more cheerful. I'm not sure about matching the contraptions you placed around the room though." Dumbledore smiled as she spoke. "They distracted many of us you know," she said.

"I find it hard to believe that you could be distracted in one of my lessons, Minerva," replied Dumbledore. "Or any lesson for that matter. You were quite the academic; and I am lead to believe that you still are," he continued.

"You read my paper?"

"I flatter myself that I was one of the first," he replied, doing his best impression of looking exaggeratingly superior.

Minerva breathed out sharply through her nose in a quiet laugh and inquired as to whether or not he approved.

"How could I not take pleasure in reading such an exquisite piece of writing?" he declared enthusiastically. "I shall even go as far as to say that I believe I benefited from reading it. I particularly enjoyed the explanation of transfiguration in religious rituals."

"That was one of my favourite sections," Minerva stated with fervour. "When I was travelling up the east of Egypt I came across ancient rituals that are still being carried out today of wizards and witches transforming inanimate objects into creatures and back again, like a snake into a stick or a beetle into a stone, to display the control of their power to the Gods.

"One group asked me to stay after I told them why I was there because they wanted me to join them and transfigure myself to make their ritual all the more powerful."

"And did you?" Dumbledore asked, curious of her answer.

"I stayed but I didn't join the ritual," Minerva answered plainly.

"May I ask why?" Dumbledore urged.

Minerva looked at him as she answered. "I don't share their beliefs," she replied simply. "I wasn't comfortable worshipping Gods I don't believe in and I didn't think it fair to mislead them. They understood and allowed me to stay and observe their traditions."

"How did you find it?" asked Dumbledore, still interested in what she had to say.

"It was –" Minerva struggled to find the right word. There didn't seem to be any to express what she had felt that night. "– elevating," she finished, frowning, unsatisfied with the word but unable to find another more suitable one lurking in her mind.

"I understand." Dumbledore's response sounded genuine and was a surprise to Minerva, but as she looked back at him she thought of how many moments he must have had in which he could not find the words to express the emotion he had felt in a certain situation. Dumbledore will have had far more adventures in his past and, given his pleasure in the unusual and the unexplored, there would definitely be emotions in him too great to express. She smiled at him and saw him smile warmly in return.

"I have something for you," Dumbledore said, reaching into his robes. Minerva watched as he placed on the desk between them a jet black stone about the size of a snitch. Minerva recognised it from one of the items that had cluttered the Transfiguration classroom when she had been his pupil. She looked from the stone to the man opposite, an inquisitive expression forming her features.

"I was younger than you are now," he continued, "and possibly a little too confident of the effect my powers would have on the ritual." Minerva's eyes widened in astonishment.

"Yes," he said answering her unspoken question. "I have attended one of the rituals you talk of. However, I did not have the feeling that I was invading a ceremony I did not believe in, although perhaps I should have had that courtesy. I was simply caught up in the exhilaration running through me, and so granted the wizards their request for me to attend."

"What happened?" Minerva's voice was almost a whisper. She felt like she was asking a very personal question.

"My powers made no extraordinary effect – probably because I was not overcome with the feeling of the Gods entering my body as _they _claim. However, the thrill that ran through me then was something I had never experienced and still haven't to this day. It is something I cannot put to words, as you know."

"And the stone?"

"The stone was turned into a scarab beetle during the ritual. They asked me to keep it; to remind me of the feeling that overpowered me and gave me a rush of life. I want you to keep it here to remind you of that feeling, and to help you teach your students that the world is bigger than the walls of the castle, and that most of it is exciting and unknown."

Minerva looked at Dumbledore in silence. He had just put to words some of the feelings she had been experiencing since she had returned from her travels.

"Thank you, sir," she whispered. "Albus."

Minerva pulled her wand out of her robes and moved the stone into the exact position it had been in when she was a student at the school. Dumbledore followed it with his eyes, which crinkled with his smile.

"One thing you do need in here is a clock," he said merrily, bringing his eyes back to face Minerva. "I'm afraid I moved my rather elaborate one up to my office when I became headmaster." He pulled out his watch from his robes and sighed. "It's getting late," he said heaving himself out of his chair. "I should let you get to your rooms and get some rest. I'll apologise to Margery for keeping you longer than I promised."

Minerva stood with rather less effort than Dumbledore because her chair was more solid and easier to get out of.

"Goodnight, Minerva," Dumbledore said quietly, standing in front of her.

"Goodnight, Albus," she replied, looking up into the face that was looking softly down at her, but not smiling.

He did not leave. He held her gaze and made no effort to move towards the door. Minerva's mind began to swim, and her head felt heavy as if she had stood up too quickly. She saw his face inch closer and felt his lips softly brush her own. She kissed him back gently and they both pulled away before the kiss was given a chance to deepen.

He looked at her once more and, not quite smiling, he said, "I'll see you at breakfast."

She watched him walk away and, as she heard the door click, the breath she had unknowingly been holding rushed from her lungs as water from a floodgate.


	14. PART 2: The Parchment

_**PART TWO**_

_**The Parchment**_

_October 1970_

"What did I just say, Mr Malfoy?"

Minerva had been becoming extremely irate with several students in her classes recently. It seemed that more and more Slytherins were loosing their concentration in her lessons. Being 'talked back to' by her students was something she could cope with; being ignored by them irritated her beyond words.

When Lucius Malfoy looked up from his desk, he did not look the slightest bit concerned that he was missing half the lesson. His expression changed however when he saw the flash of fury in Professor McGonagall's eyes. He clenched his jaws and swallowed. Minerva knew that he was not scared of her anger, but terrified that she could humiliate him in front of his friends and classmates, and she knew his pride would be damaged by it.

Another Slytherin on Malfoy's left whispered to him out of the corner of his mouth.

"You said 'turn to page four hundred and fifty six', Professor." Malfoy answered in a slow, bored voice, a triumphant smirk now disguising his previous panic.

"And is this task too bewildering for you to carry out?" she snapped back.

Malfoy volunteered no reply but instead opened his book at the required page, his cheeks colouring a subtle shade of pink. Satisfied, Minerva continued her lesson, but from that moment on she was thinking about the need to see Dumbledore about the recent behaviour of the students.

The last fourteen years had seen Minerva progress in her teaching as if there were no boundaries; she had become Head of Gryffindor House and then Deputy Headmistress of the school soon after. She adored so many of her students, whom she had seen grow into themselves in the seven years she taught them, and her Gryffindors were her most prized possession; though she would never show any outward bias.

Professor Dumbledore was the one very complicated ingredient in the plain, although sometimes challenging, potion that was Hogwarts School. There friendship had deepened throughout the years and she valued him so deeply that she could not see the limit. They had kept a steady and professional relationship, with an unspoken understanding not to discuss the night Minerva arrived at Hogwarts. Both were equally content with that. However, each encounter with Dumbledore was the same; Minerva could always feel when he was near, and that was something she did not understand. She tried to push it to the back of her mind. It was difficult however, because it was not an emotion she was feeling but a physical sense, and when it is there blatantly in front of you, it is a lot harder to ignore.

At the end of the lesson Minerva's sixth years left the classroom and she sat at her desk staring at a piece of parchment she had found on the floor just after the last student stepped through the door. Dumbledore was on his way; Minerva had sent an owl to him immediately. All she could do was wait.

"Minerva?"

Dumbledore had pushed open the door and entered. When he closed it behind him, Minerva turned to him and silently held out the piece of parchment. Dumbledore walked forward and took it from her. She saw his eyes cloud over and his brow crease as he frowned at the object in his hands.

"Do you know whose it is?" Dumbledore asked, his voice deep with a subtle anger Minerva rarely witnessed in him.

"No," she replied regretfully. "I found it on the floor after the students left."

There was a silence in which both professors were immersed in their own thoughts on the matter. Their faces both showed the anxiety that had been increasingly familiar on the faces of others in recent months. Minerva broke the silence.

"Albus," she said, "this is the third time something like this has happened in the school – link these to the two that have occurred beyond the school grounds under more serious circumstances and–," Minerva took a breath to control the disquiet she could feel building up inside her. "Something is about to happen, Albus. We can both feel it."

Dumbledore slowly looked up at her from the parchment in his hands with a sadness in his eyes that on first glance suggested defeat.

"We have known that this day would come for several months, Minerva, even if the Ministry will not listen to us." His eyes suddenly claimed back their usual vigour. "We need to gather our own forces," he stated with energy. "If the Ministry will not help, then we have to get a group together who will. Owl anybody you know and trust beyond any doubt, and tell them to come to Hogwarts as soon as they can with all the secrecy they can, even when inside the castle walls. We cannot stand back any longer."

Dumbledore dropped the parchment back onto Minerva's desk, quickly turned and walked out of her classroom, leaving her even more anxious than she had been before. The black image on the parchment glared back at her threateningly, the menacing snake protruding from the skull that she had already seen too many times.

x x x

"But what is it that we actually _know_?"

The meeting had commenced thirty minutes ago and the turnout was better than expected. Minerva had, of course, asked Sally, Charles and Blake without a thought, and they had all, equally so, turned up without a thought. There were many witches and wizards whom Minerva did not recognise, but after half an hour all names and faces were stuck fast in her mind. It was Alastor Moody who had spoken. His name was made famous in the war against Grindelwald as one of the best aurors there had ever been.

The question had been aimed at Dumbledore, and so it was he who answered. "This mark," Dumbledore said, holding up the parchment that had been found in Minerva's classroom a few days previously, "has appeared on paper in this school three times. Now, as you well know, Alastor, this mark has been witnessed twice in the country above the houses of two murdered ministry members. We know that whoever is leading this atrocious campaign is reaching into the school and corrupting our students. Who best to entice than those whose minds can be shaped the easiest? It is clear now that a sect is being formed – and we are the ones who have to stop it."

Dumbledore's energy and fervour were powerful enough to seep into every being present – everyone except Minerva, who was holding a thought at the forefront of her mind. She caught Dumbledore's eye and he ceased the sentence he had not yet begun. Everyone in the room turned to Minerva as they followed Dumbledore's eye-line. She spoke.

"Albus," Her voice was curious and therefore quieter than usual. "Do you know who it is who is leading these people?"

All heads turned back to the Headmaster, whose expression remain impassive. "I do," he said.

Several gasps were heard among the group. "Who is it, Dumbledore?", "How do you know?" were two questions out of many that Minerva could distinguish. Dumbledore waited for the shock to abate and answered.

"Some of you may remember a boy who came to Hogwarts almost three decades ago. He was at school when the beginnings of war were showing themselves, and when a student was killed. _He _was the person responsible for that death, not the student who was blamed and expelled. His name is Tom Riddle."

Several people gasped a second time at the recollection of this name. Minerva was one of them; he had been one year younger than herself. She remembered her thoughts at the time of the girl's death – that Dumbledore was not satisfied with Rubeus Hagrid being accused of her death – now she understood why. Dumbledore continued, "You may be shocked, but this is the case. In his last few years he started to make his classmates call him Voldemort and I believe that this is the name he now uses. He is extraordinarily knowledgeable and cunning, and therefore a danger to us all. Mark my words," he said deeply and firmly, "you must not underestimate him."


	15. Unwelcome News

_**Unwelcome News**_

_October 1971_

Almost one year had past since Dumbledore had gathered the few witches and wizards together, and the group was now stronger than ever. It had been Dumbledore's idea for the group to have a name; he had said that it would make the bond between them stronger, and the actions they were taking more official and effective. It was a while later when they all finally agreed on the name 'The Order of the Phoenix' because Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, was not required until some time after the group had first formed.

Fawkes' services were eventually indispensable because Voldemort began to gain followers remarkably quickly. They were beginning to appear at almost every corner, and a lot of them were the most unlikely wizards to ever cross over to darkness, which made the secrecy and trust of, and within, the Order all the more precious.

Those of the Order who were teachers at Hogwarts conducted their business as usual during the day, and at this moment, while other members were fulfilling various duties for the Order, Minerva was teaching Transfiguration to her second year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.

"Now, Mr Black, where is your button?"

"It ran away, Professor," Sirius Black answered with no attempt at humour.

"Well, I can't very well mark your work if you cannot keep your beetles under control," Minerva said. Her voice was strict, but the tiniest hint of a smile negated its severity. Sirius managed to turn his button into a beetle in the first lesson, and Minerva knew very well that, with or without the evidence in this lesson, he was one of the most talented students she had seen in years. "Here is another button, Mr Black. And this time, do please try not to let your work scamper away."

Minerva continued to walk around the classroom inspecting her students' work. She had been teaching this particular practical once a week for five weeks and still some of the students had not been successful. Her frustration was about to escape on a small mousy-haired little boy, when a loud knock sounded at the door. Peter Pettigrew breathed a sigh of relieve as his Professor turned her back to him, though not before giving him a ruthlessly stern stare.

"Come in," she said, perhaps a little louder then was necessary. She could feel the students in the room shrink away from her sudden fierceness as she stood amongst them. A seventh year Ravenclaw confidently strode into the classroom.

"Pardon me, Professor," she said quickly but politely. "Professor Dumbledore has asked me to tell you that he wishes to see you immediately."

"Thank you, Marianne." Minerva replied.

She maintained an air of calmness as she watched the messenger leave the room, and as she dismissed her second years she noticed that most were rather pleased to be escaping her discipline. On the inside however, her thoughts had turned from frustration at her pupils to concern about something as yet unknown. If Dumbledore felt the need to interrupt a lesson it meant that the news could not be welcome.

As the last of the cheerful second years left the room, Minerva followed and locked her classroom door behind her, a custom taught to each of the teachers at the start of their employment, and drummed into them most acutely within the last year. She rapidly made her way to Dumbledore's office, no longer in control of her nerves as they continually managed to get the better of her.

She spoke the password, ('_flitterbloom_'), ascended the stairs and knocked on the Headmaster's door.

"Enter," he responded, and Minerva turned the handle and stepped over the threshold, closing the huge door behind her.

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk scribbling rapidly on some parchment. Minerva did not interrupt, and let him finish the letter, tie it to his owl, (Archibald's grandson, Caesar), and send it in silence.

"Swiftly, Caesar," Dumbledore said to the owl as he took him to the window. "Your speed is imperative." He watched as the owl flew away, and then turned to his visitor.

"What has happened, Albus?" Minerva asked anxiously, foregoing any greeting.

"Sit down, Minerva," Dumbledore said. "Please."

His voice now was completely contrary to his hurried actions not one minute ago – he spoke carefully and slowly. Minerva complied and sat herself in the seat in front of Dumbledore's desk, never taking her eyes off him as he perched himself close to her on the desk, his robe brushing her knee as he sat.

"Minerva," he began gently, his eyes looking down at his hands whose fingers were playing with a loose thread on the edge of his sleeve. "I have received some news from Alastor."

Minerva eyes widened in shocked. She knew what he was about to say. Blake had been working closely with Alastor Moody for the past three months for the Order. Dumbledore's eyes finally turned to hers.

"Blake has been killed, Minerva. The Dark Mark was found over Dervish and Banges a few hours ago. Alastor believes it happened in the early hours of this morning."

Minerva said nothing. She looked at Dumbledore for a few seconds longer then turned her face away as a silent tear fell from her suddenly moist eyes.

"And his father?" she asked, her voice steadier than she had expected.

"I'm sorry," she heard him say. "His body was found at the back of the shop, behind the counter."

The two Professors sat in silence for some time, neither shedding any more tears but both feeling enormous grief. A thought occurred to Minerva and she looked back up at Dumbledore. She saw such sadness in his face as he stared at the now frayed edge of his robe sleeve, that she faltered. She took a breath before beginning again, and asked,

"Does his mother know?"

"Yes," he replied. "I sent a letter to her as soon as I heard."

"I will write to her as well and send my condolences." She paused; then, "Albus?"

He looked at her, noting the curiosity in her voice.

"What reason would they have to – go after Blake?" she asked.

"I have been asking that question myself for the past hour. The only reason I can suggest is that –"

"– they know about the Order."

"Precisely," he said.

Minerva was worried. If they simply knew that the Order of the Phoenix existed she would probably feel marginally better, but Blake's death implied that they also knew of some members. This made the situation very much harder and all the more disquieting. She could sense Dumbledore's uneasiness also and, if it was possible, she felt worse for it.

"Who was it you were writing to, Albus?" Minerva inquired.

"Alastor," he answered. "I want to know if he has any leads."

"Of course," Minerva said absently. Her mind was back on Blake again. It was not quite registering with her that she would never see him again. She knew she wouldn't, and yet the situation did not quite seem real.

"Minerva?"

It seemed that Dumbledore had been asking her something. She looked up and saw the concern in his features; the usual sparkle of merriment gone from his eyes.

"Sorry," she said. "It just seems rather a lot to take in."

Dumbledore smiled kindly. He said, "Blake will be missed. He has been very helpful in the last year. It is the first time, I think, that he was pleased to be working in the shop. The number of people he managed to gather information from was remarkable."

It was Minerva's turn to smile now. Being a member of the Order had given Blake another task whilst working in the shop – to gather any information about anything suspicious from his customers whilst seeming indifferent to their answers.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said again. She thought he seemed rather uncomfortable and so waited patiently for him to speak. "I am truly sorry about Blake." Minerva nodded silently and waited once more for him to finish. "I am even more sorry to give you this news on your birthday."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. She had not mentioned her birthday to anyone because of the events that were happening all around them. She had received several cards with best wishes and congratulations that morning, and that was enough to satisfy her.

"Thank you, sir," she said quietly, and a little uncomfortably. For some reason the atmosphere had rapidly changed at Dumbledore's last utterance and Minerva did not wish to linger in the office. "I – I should get ready for my next class," she said, lifting herself from the chair to leave. Just before she reached the door Dumbledore spoke.

"Will you be all right?"

She turned back to face him and nodded.

"I'll be fine."

x x x

That evening Minerva sat at her desk with a piece of parchment in front of her. It read, 'Dear Mrs. Hardy'. That was all. Minerva had been sitting in the same position, with her elbows on the desk and her head in her hands for over half an hour, wondering what in the world you say to someone whose son and husband had just been murdered. There had been many deaths from Voldemort's followers over the past twelve months, but none to whose family she was familiar with.

She looked up at her clock. It read eleven thirty. A whole hour had now gone by and still the majority of the letter was blank. Minerva shook her head and decided that with a refreshed mind in the morning she would be able to think more clearly about the contents of the letter. With a flick of her wand her tight bun fell away and her long, dark hair tumbled down her back.

She moved from the hard seat at the desk in her library to the sofa in the living room in front of the fireplace and stared up at her father's painting above it. She thought back to the day she arrived as teacher at Hogwarts. Blake and Charles had been discussing which painting to hang as the centrepiece. She seemed to recall Dumbledore's name being mentioned somewhere but could not remember in what context. Her mind fixed on her friends and the silent tears began. She wondered if Charles and Sally knew the events of earlier that morning.

A quiet knocking brought Minerva out of her reverie. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and waited without saying a word in case she had heard incorrectly. She was not mistaken however, and the knock came again, though still as quietly as before. She flicked her hair back into its customary bun and moved towards her door. The students had better have a good reason for being out of bed this late. She turned the handle and heaved the door open.

Dumbledore seemed to fill the entire doorway. He had huge, thick travelling robes on and his face carried a weary appearance.

"Albus!" Minerva exclaimed. "What – what are you doing here?" said asked, and without waiting for an answer, said, "Come in, come in."

"I am sorry to bother you so late, Minerva," he said. "Though I see I have not disturbed your slumber."

"It's fine, Albus," she said, following him to her sofa, then offering him a seat. She sat down next to him. "I was just about to have a cup of tea. Would you like some chocolate?"

Before Dumbledore could respond, Minerva had a mug of hot chocolate and a steaming cup of tea floating in the air before them.

"Thank you, Minerva," he said, taking the floating chocolate gratefully. "This is just what I need."

She watched him sip his drink for a few moments and then decided to interrupt his thoughts.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"I went to see Alastor soon after you left my office this morning," he replied. "He was in rather low spirits as you can imagine, but I gathered what information I could. It seems that one of Voldemort's followers, who are now apparently calling themselves Death Eaters, bore some kind of grudge against Blake's father. We are not sure of the particulars of this resentment, only that the Death Eater in question felt it necessary to kill for.

"Minerva," Dumbledore added regretfully, "it is quite clear now that, judging by the position of the bodies, Blake tried to defend his father. He stood between his father and certain death. He died honourably."

After a few moments of endeavouring to hold her tears back, and this time succeeding, Minerva spoke quietly.

"Thank you. I am only sorry he died in vain. This means, I suppose, that we can safely assume Voldemort does not know of the Order?"

"Yes," Dumbledore replied confidently, understanding that Minerva did not wish to talk further of her friend's death. "We have no reason to suppose they know, though I am sure it is only a matter of time before they find out. These things always have a way of revealing themselves."

They sat in silence for several minutes, each absorbed in their own thoughts, drinking their hot drinks slowly until Dumbledore spoke.

"I am sorry you birthday has not been quite up to scratch, Minerva. We usually partake in such merriment on staff birthdays. If we allow Voldemort to cover our whole lives with gloom, then he truly will have defeated us. Today, I grant you, has been a particularly sad day, but I knew the thoughts of how you wished the day would go even before you found out this unhappy news. You must not think, Minerva, that because there is such misery in the world at present that we must not have days of joy. These days are the days we live for. A celebration of the people we love and cherish."

Minerva looked at Dumbledore with such appreciation. These were words she needed to hear but did not know it. He was clearly quite right. How could she have thought otherwise?

"And so," Dumbledore continued, "with all that in mind, I have a gift for you. You are to take a long weekend off and I want you to do two things. One is to go and visit your parents, and the other is to visit Charles and Sally. The latter I know are free this weekend and so I believe it shall be this Friday and next Monday in which you will be absent from Hogwarts. I will cover your lessons so you may be assured that nothing will fall to pieces whilst you are away. Good."

Dumbledore finished with a satisfied smile. Minerva had been smiling delicately all the way through his little speech and did not stop when he had finished.

"Now then," Dumbledore said before Minerva could respond. "It is getting late and I need to be up early for a visit from the Minister for Magic." He vanished his empty mug with his wand and lifted himself from Minerva's sofa. She did the same and followed him to her door.

"Albus," she said, and he turned to face her. "Thank you – for everything tonight. Thank you for coming so late to tell me the news about Blake, and for my gift –"

"Minerva," Dumbledore interrupted in a powerful whisper. "These things do not need your thanks… for reasons I will not go into now. I'm afraid I offered them rather selfishly."

Minerva frowned. "What do you mean?"

"No matter," he answered gently.

"Albus," she pushed sternly. He knew she was hot-tempered and that he was frustrating her – two aspects of her character that mixed like sparks and timber.

He was silent. She stared irritably at him, but her features were soon altered to surprise as he raised his hand and swept an errant hair from her face. The tips of his fingers brushed her forehead and she inhaled sharply and audibly as the caress sent a familiar feeling running along her spine to her neck. She saw the look of surprise and then confusion on Dumbledore's face and knew that the unusual sensation did not belong to her alone.


	16. United

_**United**_

"Albus, I–"

"– I had better go, Minerva." Dumbledore removed his hand from where it touched her forehead back down to his side. His brow was still crinkled in confusion and, if Minerva was not mistaken, also in worry.

He left her rooms quickly; and when she called after him he did not acknowledge her. Minerva walked the remaining paces to her door and closed it behind him a few, long seconds after he had gone. She could still feel the place where his hand had touched her skin as clearly as if it had remained there. She moved herself calmly to her sofa and perched on the end. She was confused. What was it that was happening between them?

She sat there thinking quietly for a while, and as she thought, she steadily became more and more aggravated. Then, all of a sudden, her frustration boiled over. Needing to aim it at something, she decided quite clear minded, to aim it at her fireplace. She stood, making a cry of aggravation in its direction. The embers that had remained from the evening's fire, burst into massive flames and roared loudly back at her, their heat enveloping her and billowing around her living room. Almost at once the flames calmed and settled and Minerva sank back into her seat, her face pink and damp with exasperation and from the heat that remained. She felt marginally better.

x x x

The next day, however, matters became rather worse. At first everything seemed perfectly normal. In the Great Hall at breakfast the students were concerning themselves with their work, rather than the horrific actions going on in the wizarding world and the staff were as quiet as they had been since Voldemort had made himself known.

And then _The Daily Prophet_ arrived.

Gasps could be heard all over the Great Hall as the students and staff read the headline. Dumbledore entered the hall soon after and most faces in the room turned to him worriedly. He sat down in the large chair next to Minerva, staring back at the staff and students with a bewildered look on his face.

"You'd better take a look at that," Minerva said seriously, offering no greeting and pointing to the _Daily Prophet_ that was on the table in front of him. Dumbledore and Minerva had a copy each, as did a few other members of staff. Those who didn't had leapt out of their chair and leant over a witch or wizard who did. Minerva began silently to read the article with astonishment and horror. The entire hall was silent.

**_Hundreds Dead as Death Eaters Swarm_**

_The scene was one of terror and disgust. In the early hours of this morning, a time that apparently seems a favourite for Death Eaters, Wandsfell was silently crept upon by hooded killers. At a time when most of the nation should be peacefully asleep, the entire village of Wandsfell was in the streets, screaming and crying out in terror. _

_Wandsfell is a large wizarding village known for its muggle-born and mixed family inhabitants and the population was rapidly rising due to the increase in acceptance of the marriage between wizard and muggle. However, due to the recent events of the past year, it has proved dangerous to live in such a way, and last night felt the effects of it. The Dark Mark was displayed over no less than one hundred and seven houses in the village, over half of the total number, most of which were the homes of families where at least one parent was muggle-born._

_Aurors and Healers flocked to the scene with attempts to catch any suspects and help with the wounded or the dead. We cannot be in any doubt of the central culprit. His name strikes fear into our very hearts, and so, we must take it upon ourselves as a nation, to make sure that his name is never spoken again!_

_There still remain many witnesses to the heinous act; however, none wished to comment, shedding tears of fear and grief as they saw their friends and family being taken quickly to Saint Mungo's, the main place which has seen the extent of the devastation in this past year. One Healer commented… (cont. Pg. 3)_

The scraping of the chair next to Minerva caught her attention and interrupted the deadly silence in the Great Hall. Minerva looked up at Dumbledore as he rose quickly, his _Daily Prophet_ clenched tightly in his hand.

"What will you do?" she whispered.

"Find out why I had to hear of this through _The Daily Prophet_, and not – by other means," Dumbledore replied, anger sparking in his eyes as they flashed to the exit and back to Minerva. "I must help take care of this, Minerva. Will you be acting-Head while I am gone?"

"Of course," Minerva answered without a moments thought. It meant of course that she would be prevented from seeing her parents and Charles and Sally for some time. This had understandably escaped Dumbledore's notice. "Will you be gone long?" she asked.

"Not too long, I hope," he replied.

He looked down at the paper Minerva was holding and overwhelming grief replaced the anger that had fired up a short time ago. Minerva bowed her head. She wished they could talk more, but the Great Hall was too public and mentioning the Order would be out of the question there. She looked up and saw the door flutter closed. With the memory of Blake still fresh in her mind, she heaved a sad sigh, got to her feet and addressed the sea of students.

x x x

Two weeks passed and still Dumbledore had not returned. He had corresponded with Minerva several times, each time letting her know that he was well and that he would arrive back shortly. He never gave a specific date. They could not discuss what Dumbledore was doing, nor anything about the Order in their letters, so Minerva simply had to wait until he returned.

She replied to his letters, telling him how the school was and how she had dealt with the Wandsfell situation. It had been difficult. There were a few students who had had relatives in that area and they had been given the choice to go back to their home if that was possible or to stay with other relative for a few days to grieve, or to remain in the school.

Minerva spoke to the students of Hogwarts as a group, and then separately if they required it. She told them that this was a time for mourning, but also a time to stick together and not close oneself off from others, or to create animosity between fellow students – something that she had already begun to witness. Every member of staff, Heads of House in particular, (bar one whose brother and sister in-law had been tortured on that terrible night, and so had been given leave), offered their services to the students and they had accepted gratefully.

The air remained grim and sober for several days; more for some. The students had been scared by this event. After all this was not one murder that was spoken of briefly, it was a massacre, and very close to home for many. Muggle-borns among the students began to fear for their lives, and most of the students felt that Dumbledore had left at a time when they needed his presence and power. As it was, Professor McGonagall, the stern, sometimes feared professor was the one offering solace and support, and the students respected her for it.

The staff table always seemed smaller when Dumbledore was absent. Minerva slipped into her chair one morning, very much aware of the persistently vacant seat of the Headmaster next to her. She ate her breakfast with little talk while her mind was relentlessly spinning around the ever present concern she held for her colleague and friend. The students of Hogwarts, though still shaken, had resumed their lives as normal and the Great Hall was now filled with the usual raucous laughter and chatter, and was beginning to become progressively louder as the meal went on.

She noticed him before anyone else did, out of the corner of her eye. He had subtly slipped through the side door making not one hint of a noise. Minerva felt her entire being relax as a tension she was unaware of eased and then was gone; her stomach felt like it had dropped down several centimetres back to its original position. He slid into his chair with the same subtlety with which he had entered the room and began pondering his long awaited and, by all appearances, very much needed breakfast in silence. Before he loaded up his empty golden plate, Minerva, playing with the fruit in her bowl with her fork, brought her left hand up and laid it on the back of his right, which was casually resting on the arm of his chair. She stared into her bowl as she squeezed his hand ever so lightly and said tenderly,

"It's good to have you back, Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore turned his hand upwards under Minerva's with ease; their palms touched and their fingers curled around the other's hand. The students had begun to notice that Dumbledore had returned, and the noise around the hall began to still. Minerva reluctantly withdrew her hand from Dumbledore's grasp as the eyes of the students turned to face him. He made no indication, however, that he was going to address his students to explain to them the matters of his departure or his return, and when this was realised the noise in the hall gradually swelled and the students' gaze returned to their breakfast.

The rest of Dumbledore and Minerva's breakfast was eaten in a comfortable silence. As the plates were wiped clean and left shining as if nothing had ever been placed upon them, the crowd of students started to disperse. Minerva felt as though she could not look into Dumbledore's face for fear she would reveal too much emotion in front of him, and also in front of the lingering students who were departing for class at their own leisurely pace.

Minerva remained seated with her jaw tightly clenched and her eyes down as the other members of staff began to welcome the Headmaster back and then dash off to their own classes, with promises of a chinwag later in the day.

After a few minutes, Dumbledore was no longer in her scope of sight and, assuming he had departed with all the other members of staff, Minerva, relaxing slightly, removed herself from her chair and, looking down so as not to trample on the hem of her robes as she rose, began to slip between her chair and Dumbledore's.

She started suddenly as her robe unexpectedly snared on what she considered to be one of Dumbledore's ridiculously flamboyant embellishments on his chair-back. Realising the reason that her moderately pleasant mood was now evaporating rapidly was probably not that of the maddening chair but more likely because Dumbledore did not remain behind, she heaved a sigh of frustration and retraced her steps in reverse in order to get into a position to release her robes without shredding them to pieces. She reached down, edged the material around the peculiar shape and freed it. Now uninhibited by the chair, Minerva turned to make her way towards the door. As she looked up she was caught by surprise when she saw the man currently at the forefront of her mind in the doorway, and her stomach fluttered somewhat at the shock.

"Oh!" Minerva exclaimed. "Albus, you startled me."

"My apologies," he replied, courteously touching his hand briefly to the brim of his hat. Minerva started to walk over to him, and he, in turn, held open the door for her.

"I thought you'd left," she stated as she reached him.

"Not without greeting my favourite transfiguration professor properly," he replied.

Deciding not to remark on the fact that she was the only transfiguration professor, she rolled her eyes and they walked the path to Minerva's classroom in silence. She was pleased she had a free hour this morning and so could talk to Dumbledore without the frustration of waiting if she did have a class. He steered her into the classroom as they reached the entrance, pressing his hand lightly on her back to guide her in.

"It's good to see you, Minerva," Albus began, sincerity permeating his tone. "How have things been?"

They made their way into Minerva's classroom and as he closed the door behind him and stood in front of it she strode to her desk.

"As pleasant as the situation will allow," she replied, pulling out several large leather bound books from one of the drawers in the front of her desk that did not look big enough to hold even one of the enormous volumes. "Although I think that most people will feel safer now that you are back." She paused a moment with a sigh, placing both her hands flat on the desktop, and then continued, "It's good to see you too, Albus."

She paused again, then lifted her weight off her hands and took a short step back to lean against the wall behind her next to the blackboard, turning to face him as he slowly walked towards her.

"I apologise for being away for so long. I hope you will trust me when I say that it was never my intention," Dumbledore said gently when he reached a position just in front of her.

"Of course I trust you, Albus. I just wish I knew where you were and what you were doing," Minerva sighed, not attempting to cover the concern leaking into her features.

"Minerva, my l-," he stopped suddenly, then continued as if he had said nothing out of the ordinary; but the undisclosed term of endearment was not lost on Minerva. "I have been searching for the world's most comfortable pair of socks."

His eyes twinkled and Minerva understood that now was not the time to discuss Dumbledore's activity. He had just arrived back and they needed each other as friends before they were obliged to take on the roles of members of the Order. They would arrange to meet properly, but for now, the fact that he was back at Hogwarts and safe was enough. It seemed that Minerva had missed him more than she had realised.

She rolled her eyes for the second time that morning and gave a tut, but smiled all the same at his uniquely eccentric attempt at humour. She looked back at him, her lips slightly apart, and saw him looking down at her intensely. A peculiar but familiar feeling quivered in her as he looked at her, however, this time the tremble was in her stomach and not at the base of her neck. She could feel her breathing quicken slightly and as a result she noticed her chest rising and falling faster than usual.

He closed the short distance between them with half a step and placed his hands either side of her shoulders against the wall she was leaning on. She could feel his heavy robes flutter and then flatten against her own as he came closer, and her entire body was swiftly aroused with anticipation. Pressing his hands more firmly against the wall and bending his arms, he took the last remaining step towards her, tipping his head down, as she was easily a head shorter than he. She could hear his breathing equal the pace of her own as his face stopped just centimetres from hers.

"Minerva," he said almost at a whisper as she turned her gaze upward to look into his face. His voice was deep and hoarse and she felt his warm sweet breath sail over her face. She could definitely hear her breathing now, coming rapidly as she felt the wall press against her back and Dumbledore's upright frame against her entire body. But then she then saw, ever so steadily, his brow furrow and his eyes close. He sighed and slowly bowed his head. She knew that in that moment his mind had, with some difficulty, overcome his passion. Reason and logic had defeated his emotion. She looked at him with aching comprehension as she waited for his explanation, already guessing what it might be.

"Take care, Minerva," she heard him say quietly. He wrenched his hands from her sides and, without looking at her again, left the room leaving Minerva feeling half relieved, half taken aback, supported by the wall of her classroom.

Several moments later, however, Minerva was pacing her classroom in frustration. This was a feeling she had felt too often recently and mostly because of the man who had just left her classroom. He was distancing himself at the same time as coming to the brink of being the closest he's ever been to her. She stopped short in her classroom – she had made her decision.

Minerva walked quickly but silently to his office, never so glad that the students were busy with their lessons. She spoke the password, jumped onto the top step and quietly opened the door at the top without a knock to warn him of her entrance. Dumbledore was standing at the back of his office looking out across the misty grounds of his school. He knew Minerva had entered but did not turn.

Minerva did not speak but walked up to him swiftly. She stepped in between him and the window. Here she stopped. She looked up at him and only then did his eyes move from the view before him to twinkle down at her. He smiled and moved his hand up to her face; his thumb caressed her cheek as his fingers curled around her neck.

"This is a bad idea, Minerva," he said, not quite in a whisper.

Minerva said nothing; only smiled back. Dumbledore lowered his head and waited one breath before his lips touched hers. Minerva had never experienced such yearning, nor knew there was such emotion to be felt. Dumbledore moved his other hand around her waist and, resting it on her back, pulled her closer to him.

Neither was aware that a deep, golden glow had suddenly filled the room and every crevice in it, nor noticed that the flames in the fire had suddenly and spontaneously grown to more than ten feet in the grate. In the Transfiguration room the scarab beetle stone floated several inches above the desk.


	17. A Fraction of Realisation

**_A Fraction of Realisation_**

The Order of the Phoenix came together the evening of the day Dumbledore had arrived back at the school and a meeting was underway. It began with the members of the Order who were also Ministry workers conveying to the rest of the group that the Minister for Magic was finally coming round to the idea that the wizard working under the name of Voldemort was gathering forces against anybody who was not of so-called 'pure blood', and the realisation for necessary preparations for the possibility of another war.

"Possibility of war?" Minerva exclaimed. "We are already at war!"

"Well, be that as it may," continued Ashley Anderson one of the younger ministry workers, shrinking slightly under Minerva's vehemence, "at least the Minister is finally accepting that war is an aspect that needs considering instead of ignoring it outright."

"What Minerva is trying to say, Ashley," Dumbledore said quickly, interrupting Minerva before she could strike back, "is that the Minister cannot see the beginnings of war when it is irrefutably staring him in the face. He is moving too slowly and putting the wizarding world in danger. He thinks of the massacre at Wandsfell simply as an attack on muggle-borns when in Voldemort's eyes it is an invitation to war, and a successful attempt to strike fear into the hearts of the wizarding community. Voldemort is only just beginning."

"So that leaves someone to talk to the Minister then." It was Alastor Moody who spoke. He had been quieter than usual in the meeting and Minerva could not help but wonder if it had something to do with Blake's death; but she knew better than to inquire. "Hands up who wants to volunteer for that fine piece of torture," he said.

"No," Dumbledore responded immediately. "We have done all we can involving the Minister. I have discovered something in this last week that will make this whole business a great deal harder for us." Every face was now focused on Dumbledore as he held the attention of the entire room. "Voldemort's forces go much deeper than we had originally expected. It seems that he has been recruiting followers for a considerable while longer than we initially thought. My investigations suggest that certain high ranking members of the Ministry of Magic have been put under the imperious curse."

Each face showed shock and disbelief. If Voldemort can infiltrate the Ministry, then their work and the secrecy of the Order had just become a lot more valuable.

"As you all know it is near to impossible to prove that someone has been cursed in this way, and the risk is even greater if they turn out to be a Death Eater of their own accord. Our discretion is therefore all the more important. We cannot risk the secrecy of the Order. Voldemort still remains ignorant of its existence and we can help a lot more if it continues that way. Now, Voldemort has made his first major move. This is the course of action I suggest we take."

The meeting went on well into the early hours of the morning and involved many conflicting opinions and heated discussions; but an arrangement was finally agreed upon.

---

Minerva stood by the Hogwarts lake. The hour was still early and the sun had not yet risen, but the sky was lightening with the promise that dawn would soon come. A cold October breeze rasped at her face, leaving her skin raw and pink. She did not mind the cold or the wind; her mind was too far away from the present to notice them. She was like a statue, and the only aspects revealing that she wasn't were the strands of hair that had been loosened by the wind and freed from her once tight bun.

She remained standing in this way as the breeze ruffled the deep black surface of the lake, and the stars, which had gone unobserved by Minerva, danced and twinkled merrily in the deep blue sky above her. Minerva was so absorbed in her thoughts that the man coming steadily closer managed to walk within two paces of her before he was noticed.

Dumbledore said nothing at first, and Minerva echoed his silence. He stood beside her and watched the ripples on the lake rushing towards them. The velvety surface was broken only once by the tip of a tentacle, which succumbed inevitably to the tempting depth of the lake.

The first star disappeared, then the first bird was heard, beginning the chorus which the sun would join as it awoke. Still not one word had been said between the witch and wizard standing by the now glistening lake. More stars began to vanish as the first signs of day glowed pink over the horizon, and the chorus of birds grew louder. As the morning sunlight hit the first trees of the Forbidden Forest, Dumbledore slipped his hand gently into Minerva's. Their cold fingers closed over the others' hand and finally the first words were spoken.

"Are you scared?" Minerva's voice was quiet against the breeze and the rise and fall of the lake's current. Her question was not confusing to Dumbledore.

For the past several hours Dumbledore had been informing the Order that information had been leaked, the contents of which had managed to acquire in his fortnight's absence from a well known snoop who owns a run-down potions shop in Knockturn Alley. He had disclosed the whereabouts of the next attack that was to be carried out by a number of Voldemort's followers. Only 'when' remained a mystery. The Order therefore had been arranging the means to discover the day this attack was planned for. A battle strategy had then been discussed down to the finest detail. This was what had kept Minerva still and silent for the last half-hour.

"It doesn't matter," Dumbledore replied, now looking at the swelling colours of the sunrise. "If I am then it must be conquered. Fear can loose a battle if it is dwelt upon."

Minerva's eyes unknowingly followed his gaze. The sky was alive with colour and the Hogwarts grounds were coated in pinks and oranges as the sunrise swept over the forest and lawns. Dumbledore's hand squeezed hers tighter and she turned her head to look at him. She could see the light from the sky reflected in his eyes and watched as the skin by his temples crinkled when he smiled softly down at her.

"It's not fear you're feeling, Minerva," he said as his eyes looked intensely into hers. "It's concern for others. Hold on to that, but don't drop your guard. You can only help them if you keep yourself alive."

She gave Dumbledore's hand a quick squeeze in return and turned back to the sun. They stood together in silence once again, watching until the tip of the sun began to peep over the horizon, dispelling the pinks and making way for more oranges and newer yellows.

Dumbledore took a step closer to Minerva and stood a little behind her. She leaned into him as he knew she would, and rested her head in the dip of his chest under his collarbone. They both knew that they would not speak about was occurring privately between them until after the battle. The distance it would create would be cowardly but easier for both. Dumbledore bowed his head and kissed her hair, breathing in deeply but silently as he did so and savouring these last few moments they would spend together so intimately until the battle was over. If they both survived.

-

_January 1972_

"How many are there? Can you see?" Minerva's voice rushed over to Sally in a strong whisper. Over the past few months the Order had worked constantly to establish the day and time that the Death Eaters were planning to attack the village of Honey Downs – and had eventually succeeded in acquiring both.

It had been hard work – keeping the Order secret even from friends they thought they could trust, at the same time as helping the aurors attempt to apprehend Death Eaters who throughout this time had carried out separate attacks on individuals or families and had left the Dark Mark over their houses, whilst also preparing for the upcoming battle. There was one aspect they had not been able to discern about the approaching confrontation, and that was the number of Voldermort's followers who would carry out the assault.

"I can't see," Sally replied, frustrated at the moon spilling light in all the wrong places. "Seventy… maybe. But more keep coming and the others keep moving."

"Don't worry," Minerva replied confidently. "We only need an approximation."

Minerva and Sally were crouched behind an enormous rhododendron bush situated on the outskirts of Honey Downs. Minerva had enlarged the bush considerably to make sure it covered them completely and was paying the price for it, because now only one of them had a clear view of the growing number of dark wizards congregating quietly and slyly close by.

The majority of the rest of the Order were spread out in the village, situated so that they surrounded the village square. There were others there too. Several trusted aurors had been told of the impending attack and had agreed to help in the defence of the village. Not one outside of the Order knew of the group's existence – they were all simply people coming together this one night to fight for a cause. Other people had joined as well; ordinary witches and wizards who had heard subtle, intelligently divulged rumours create by members of the Order and aimed at the right people, and they too had wanted to be of assistance. In the end the number of witches and wizards fighting with the Order had reached nearly fifty.

"They're moving!" Sally whispered urgently and Minerva began the magic that would let Dumbledore know that the battle was about to begin.

With the little time Dumbledore and Minerva had spent together since their time at the lake, they had come unknowingly close to realising the origins of a magic that ran deeply in both of them. They had been sitting in Dumbledore's office on an evening in the Christmas holidays when most of the students had returned home, and discussing the possible means of communication during battle, when the strange piece of evidence came to light.

Dumbledore's fireplace had been alive with light and was breathing very welcome heat onto their faces. He had just told Minerva a muggle joke that she did not understand but that he was chuckling away to merrily. She turned to him with her eyebrow raised and her lips making not one hint of a smile. Dumbledore wiped a lone happy tear from his face and his quiet laughter ceased, though his eyes still sparkled in amusement.

He had pressed his hands on either side of his body on the sofa, readying himself to stand and retrieve the piece of parchment Minerva had asked for several minutes ago, but which had reminded him of his joke, when his hand lightly brushed her thigh.

Dumbledore remained where he was, and for good reason. Both watched in surprise as the flames in the fireplace before them roared several feet higher and sank back down just as quickly when Dumbledore moved his hand. They both stared at the fireplace, breathing heavily from the surprise, but also from the deep magic they both could feel had just entered the room and was now slowly dying away.

"What was that?" Minerva had whispered, keeping her eyes firmly on the fire and trying to push down the feeling at her neck that Dumbledore always managed to invoke. She could hear his breathing close to her ear, and when he said nothing, she turned her head to face him. He was sitting with a slight frown and was staring at the fire in the same way she had been. Finally his eyes flicked to hers.

"I want to try something," he had said mysteriously, and he stood up asking her to do the same.

Minerva was standing facing Dumbledore, not having one single idea of what he was about to do. She looked up at him and the cheerfulness that had been present only moments ago had vanished under his severe concentration.

"Albus," Minerva had said quietly, uncomfortable with his intense focus in her direction. He softened his gaze and looked at her tenderly.

"I need you to concentrate on me," he had told her gently. "Only me," he repeated. He raised right hand to a place in front of his chest, his palm facing Minerva and his long fingers stretching upwards. Minerva, confused, had mirrored his action. She had tried to take her mind away from the strangeness of the situation and concentrate on the man in front of her. That had not been a difficult task to carry out. Dumbledore's scent invaded her senses; his eyes had regained some of their intensity and she was able to sink into the firelight reflecting in them.

Their hands had come together slowly and the sudden energy that surged through them both was tremendous. The feeling in Minerva's neck had multiplied tenfold and spread down her spine, losing none of its strength. Her back straightened and she saw that the affect was the same in Dumbledore. Their heavy breathing had resurfaced, as had the incredible heat from the fire as the flames soared once again in the grate. Their faces had become moist in the high temperature, and the sweat of their hands trickled between their palms and had blended together under the touch of their skin.

In the room a golden glow that did not come from the fire had begun to swell and seep into every available space left in the room. The energy that had unfolded down Minerva's spine had started to spread throughout her entire body, from her neck and her spine, moving down into her stomach, then through her sex. Reaching her thighs it travelled still further, past her knees, down to the tips of her toes. She had felt it break out into her arms, journeying past her shoulders to her elbows, reaching her wrist then flowing into the tips of her fingers, five of which were pressing against Dumbledore's own fingertips.

Soon after that, the energy had been too great to withstand. Minerva's body had begun to tremble and Dumbledore's imitated hers soon after. A well-timed call from Fawkes had mercifully broken their concentration and their hands had jolted apart. Breathing heavily and sweating from the heat and force of Dumbledore's experiment, Minerva and Dumbledore had remained facing each other but stayed silent.

Minerva could see that the pink glow which had passed over Dumbledore's face in the heat was beginning to ebb away and his breathing was coming under control a little faster than her own. She had turned away from him then, moving away from the remaining heat of the fire and into the cooler shadows close to the window.

"I'm sorry," she had heard him say quietly. She did not turn. "I didn't realise that would happen."

Keeping her eyes on the steadily falling snow in the Hogwarts grounds, Minerva had replied, "You obviously knew something would happen." She did not feel angry, but her words came out sharply. She knew Dumbledore could feel her quick regret. Sighing as she bowed her head, she had then turned and looked up at him. He had not moved. "What is it?"

"I don't know what it is," he had replied. "I've never experienced it before, or even heard about it. But we can use this, Minerva," he had continued. "If we can learn what it is, or at least come to understand its reactions, _this_ is our way of communicating."

"Albus," Minerva had replied, more forcefully this time. "How do you know that we can tame this magic to use at our own convenience? We're dealing with forces we know nothing about. It's dangerous."

"I know it is, Minerva," Albus had replied in a calm but determined voice. "But what if this is magic that will benefit the Order? What if it can help win us this war?"

Minerva looked at him sadly. "What if it can't?"

Dumbledore had spent the next few weeks trying to persuade Minerva that it was worth trying to uncover the forces that were at work between them. She had eventually agreed; if not to keep him from aggravating her, then from her own curiosity. They had agreed not to mention it to the rest of the Order apart from Sally, who would be with Minerva when she would need to communicate with Dumbledore.

They had finally discovered a simple way early one afternoon, a few days into the new year and very close, too close Minerva thought, to the day of the attack on Honey Downs. Minerva had been sitting on the sofa in her living room, leaning forwards with her elbows on her knees. Her hands were cold. She had formed a cup with them and was blowing air into them, feeling the warmth wash over her skin and her breath turn to dampness on her fingers and palms.

She was thinking about Dumbledore; thinking of the way she had felt in his office, surrounded by thick magic and phenomenal heat. Pulling her hands away from her mouth she took hold of her wand and waved it towards the fire, making the flames rise and provide more heat to the room. She heard a loud knock at her door.

"Come in, Albus," she had called.

He had entered, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he walked swiftly towards her.

"What were you just doing?" he had said as a greeting.

"Nothing," she replied bemused. "I was about to go to lunch… What?" she asked impatiently as Dumbledore had begun to pace the floor in front of her.

"You must have been doing something?"

Minerva took a deep calming breath and had let it our slowly. Dumbledore ceased his pacing and looked at her.

"I know you're frustrated," she had said. "But I'm working as hard as you at this."

He turned his body and had sat next to her on the edge of her sofa. He took her hand in his and brushed his thumb over the pale skin coating it.

"Your hand is cold," he had said in a whisper. Lifting it to his lips, Dumbledore wrapped is own hands around it, cupping it completely between them and blew his own warm breath over it, warming it from her fingertips to her wrist. He looked up and saw Minerva looking at him thoughtfully. His eyebrows flicked up in question.

"Why did you ask what I had been doing, Albus?" she inquired pensively.

"I felt a… familiar feeling," he said.

"In the base of your neck?" she asked.

Dumbledore looked surprised. "Yes," he said. "And in my hands."

"I was warming my hands as you were just doing, thinking of – the situation." Minerva stumbled. It had felt strange to be admitting to Dumbledore that she had been thinking of him directly, so she had altered the truth slightly.

Dumbledore had smiled at her in comprehension. Then said, "You've found it, Minerva. The way we can communicate."

---

Crouching down behind the rhododendron bush beside Sally, Minerva focused all of her attention on Dumbledore. The way he smelt when he was close to her, the feel of his lips as they brushed her own, the feel of his hair as it swept past her arm; and his eyes. She saw his eyes perfectly in her mind and allowed herself to be drawn deeper and deeper into them. She lifted her hands to her lips.

On the other side of the village Dumbledore leant forwards and spoke to the two men in front of him: "They're coming."


	18. The First Battle

_**The First Battle**_

The atmosphere was ripe with tension. As Dumbledore's warning was passed around the village each witch and wizard held their breath. Shaky nerves settled in their fingertips and in the pits of their stomachs as they waited for the assault. The air was sharp and cold, and the witches and wizards whose fingers and noses had before been numbed by it could now feel every cell of their body come alive with excitement and anxiety in their silent waiting.

They watched as hooded figures began to emerge out of the mist that had descended over the village an hour before – a clever spell for a night of disguise. They moved silently and with purpose, their black cloaks only just being distinguished from the shadows they kept to. Not a sound was heard.

Dumbledore was to give the signal for the ambush. Each person hidden behind the walls of houses, or thick tree trunks, or hedges or down narrow alleyways waited with baited breath. As each second ticked by, the urge to move and attack became harder to ignore. They stood ready to charge, their warm breath appearing before them as it hit the freezing air, coming quicker and quicker as their exhilaration and their nerves rose. Dumbledore, however, was waiting for the circle surrounding the dark wizards to be complete. He was waiting for Minerva and Sally.

Earlier that week a spell had been cast over the village of Honey Downs by the aurors, (who had also asked the residents to leave their houses for the night), and it would not be completed until all who were fighting had stepped over the village boarder and a sealing spell had been cast. The spell over Honey Downs was, in part, similar to one cast over Hogwarts School. Apparating and disapparating would become impossible inside the village, and Dumbledore had put up temporary walls unseen from the outside, held strong with magic to block any means of escape. Two ways were left clear however – the entrance Minerva, Sally and the Death Eaters would use and a gateway opposite on the other side of the village, allowing for escape should the Order and their followers become trapped. Dumbledore kept his eyes firmly on the first house at the village entrance, and was not even distracted by the figure shrouded in black who came within a few feet of him, his breath spilling into the air as a mist and vanishing like a phantom.

A short way behind the cloaked figures who were beginning to enter the village and now numbering many more than seventy, Minerva crept silently from behind the rhododendron bush with Sally at her side, their fingers locked tightly around their wands and their eyes focused straight ahead, conscious of getting too close and being seen. Sally was nervous and Minerva could feel it. Picking up their pace, yet still treading lightly on the stiff, frozen turf next to the track that lead up to the village, Minerva reached across to her friend and grabbed hold of her hand. She felt Sally's frozen fingers wrap around her own and the iciness stabbed into her skin. She squeezed it gently as the last of the Death Eaters entered the village, and kept hold of it as they started to run to the first house of Honey Downs.

Dumbledore immediately distinguished Minerva and Sally's black forms as they darted behind the wall of the house. The dark wizards were finally surrounded. A shot of blue zoomed out from the end of Dumbledore's wand straight into the air above them with the noise of a Zonkos fire rocket. The battle had begun.

The first green flash whizzed through the air, marking the moment when the Death Eaters realised they were under attack. It was joined by more flashes as the first witches and wizards – the majority of whom were aurors – tore away from their set positions and out into the once silent streets, now suddenly full of cries from the Death Eaters as they called to each other for aid, and from the aurors and others, crying out in a craze of excitement and encouragement. Soon the air around them was full of colour as spells and curses were fired in all directions.

Minerva had never felt like this at the beginning of a battle before, but as she turned to Sally behind the wall of the house her eyes blazed with fire from the thrill of imminent combat. Sally saw the flash of passion so evident on Minerva's face and it fuelled her own determination like a tidal wave smashing down any obstacle in its path. Minerva smiled into her thrill and Sally grinned back, her own excitement now overcoming her nerves and bubbling beneath the surface of her skin, desperate to break free.

A second flash of blue pierced the mist and the black of the night, at the same time sealing the spell that had been cast over the village, and the Order and the remaining witches and wizards charged out from their positions and ran to the aid of their fellow fighters defending the people of Honey Downs. Minerva and Sally ran down the main street leading into the heart of the village, each step feeding the fire blazing inside Minerva. She found her first target.

Breathing fast from the run and her own exhilaration she raced into the main source of the action building up in the village square and sent a silent but formidable spell at the witch before her who had already seen her and was raising her wand with a deadly spell poised on her lips. The witch was propelled backwards by the force of Minerva's spell; a force which came not only from Minerva's already powerful magic but from the passion the fight had generated. The witch's dark cloak flew out and flapped in front of her as she flew through the air, conscious of nothing but the dark of her mind. Minerva had already turned away and was duelling with a tall, thin wizard; she never noticed the witch hit the wall of a house, nor heard the loud crack of her spine as it snapped, killing her instantly.

The tall wizard was a challenge and Minerva duelled with him for several long minutes, watching as his fast hand blocked her equally fast spells. She began to feel frustration building up inside her and tried to ignore it, knowing full well that it could lose her this fight, and consequently her life. She felt around her for the fervour that had gripped her and given her strength only moments before and found it in the sudden, terrifying scream of a wizard nearby. It sounded as though the pain was ripping and burning through his flesh and bones, moving devastatingly slowly into his very soul. Minerva could easily guess the curse that had been launched at him and her anger burst through along with a fierce need to protect herself from such pain, rekindling her vigour. The wizard was defeated seconds later, and his unconscious body was left where he fell.

Minerva continued fighting through the screams heard above any other noise of the witches and wizards who had been subjected to the _crutiatus_ curse. One Death Eater after another crumbled under Minerva's spells. There were more of them than she had thought, for there was always someone fight. The Order and their followers were outnumbered at least three to one. She could feel the sweat dampening her face and back. She could taste blood and was unsure of whether it was her own. Her chest was beginning to tighten with each gulping breath, and she felt her muscles grow heavier as she ran through the crowd, and dodged curses and Death Eaters, and fired uncountable spells.

She spotted Sally close by, fighting fiercely near the edge of the crowd and made her way over, running fast and engaging in only two duels along the way. Her eyes skirted the rim of the village square as she ran and something there caught her attention. She reached Sally just as she saw her fire the final spell against her opponent. Minerva grabbed her shoulder and Sally turned; her normally bright blue eyes had darkened from the intensity of the battle. They were both breathing fast but neither were badly injured. Minerva jerked her head in the direction of one of the houses on the outskirts of the square where two dark figures had managed to steer clear of the fight and were trying to stay hidden in the shadows of the garden walls and hedges, looking for an easy escape.

The moon was thankfully behind Minerva and Sally, so the shadows cast from the houses nearby were long and would keep the two witches well concealed. Still breathing fast but creeping quietly into the shadow of the nearest house, Minerva and Sally watched as the two figures move steadily closer and closer. All the noise around them vanished as they held their concentration steady on their approaching victims.

Holding out her wand arm, Minerva halted Sally and they stood sidelong against the wall waiting for a clear path between them and the two creeping shadows. Minerva could feel the rough bricks graze back of her hand as she leant against the wall and tried to bring her breathing back under control. Her face was numbed with cold, and the blood she had tasted earlier had already dried against her cheek and lips. She was starting to feel a stinging sensation across her forehead, as if from the slash of knife, and tried to ignore it.

The two figures were close to them now, about the width of two houses distant, and nothing stood between them and the two waiting witches. A green flash from another part of the action zoomed past close by and lit up the figures of Minerva and Sally and the two cloaked Death Eaters. Spells shot from all four wands at once as the eyes of both pairs met the others'. Minerva easily blocked the one aimed at her, and Sally made no movement as the one intended to injure her simply whizzed past. As their fight began the four duellers unconsciously moved further into the action and away from the walls of the houses that had been their concealment.

Minerva _stupefied_ her opponent within the next minute and moved to help Sally as her challenger was joined by two others. Soon into the new fight Minerva felt a slash sear the skin at her collarbone. Her top body twisted as the hot spell sliced into her skin as if it were butter, deep and excruciating. She bit her lip in a massive effort to keep from crying out, and focused all her efforts on the fight, sending her own spell angrily back from her crooked position at her attacker. The witch it was intended for had not been expecting such a swift response and Minerva's spell hit her square in the chest before she even had time to think of blocking it.

The battle continued a long while after that and it was tough. The smell of blood and perspiration was strong as it prevailed over the perfume rising from the flowers in the gardens of the residents of Honey Downs. However, the tired, filthy faces of all who were fighting against the dark wizards were still fixed with determination, especially when they began to notice that the number of Death Eaters was dwindling, and when they found that breaks to rest from their fighting were occurring more and more frequently.

Dumbledore was duelling with three wizards, all who craved the glory that would come from his defeat, when a flash of red whizzed through the air close by. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the hooded target lean backwards with remarkable agility avoiding the spell which zoomed past. He heard a shocked shout come from somewhere behind him as the loose spell found an unintentional victim.

Minerva could not help let out a cry as a force powered into her between her shoulder blades. She saw the eyes before her crinkle as the wizard she had been duelling with smirked. The spell had not come from him, but it had aided his fight. Minerva had been winning their duel and the wizard on the receiving end of her wand had been tiring. His spells were becoming imprecise and Minerva had been close to victory.

In the short seconds it took for her to fall to her knees she could see the wizard she had been fighting with walk proudly towards her and raise his wand menacingly. Her final thought was of Dumbledore before the _stupefying_ spell in her back took complete control.

-

Her first thought was of the hard ground beneath her. Her hands lay by her sides and she pressed her fingers to the surface she was lying upon. Grit and gravel dug in and stuck to her skin. Then the noises flooded to her ears. The sound of spells rushing through the air and the shouts from the people nearby were becoming gradually clearer in her mind. The battle was still going on but it sounded strange. She tried to listen to the sounds closer to her. She could hear Sally's rapid breathing, as if she had just come from the battle.

Opening her eyes she tried to make out the fuzzy image before her. Dumbledore's form filled her entire field of vision. His eyes were all that Minerva could get into focus and she saw them twinkling down at her. She could feel the bottom of his beard resting on her chest and his breath warming her face from his position leaning over her. She smiled a small smile and closed her eyes again to dispel the blurriness. When she opened them seconds later Dumbledore had vanished.

She looked to her right to where she had heard Sally breathing, and saw her kneeling close by. She could see her chest rising rapidly with short, sharp breaths; her right cheekbone had a nasty graze across it and her face was streaked with dried blood and dirt. Minerva imagined she must look much the same.

"Dumbledore was just waiting to see if you were okay," she said breathlessly but quickly, guessing Minerva's first thoughts.

"What happened?" Minerva asked pushing her hands further into the sharp gravel to lift herself into a sitting position.

"A spell from someone on our side missed its target and hit you," Sally told her with evident annoyance. She saw Minerva wince silently. "What is it?"

"It's nothing. I've just been cut," Minerva told her gesturing to the torn bloody robes over the deep cut to her collarbone. "We should get back."

"They don't need us," Sally said. "It's over. Dumbledore has gone back to help round up all the prisoners. The healers are on their way and so is the Minister."

They smiled to each other. It was no longer surprising that the noises of the battle had sounded strange to her. The battle was over and victory was theirs. The spells she had heard soaring through the air must have been cast to bind the Death Eaters, Minerva thought. And naturally there would still be shouting, from the wounded maybe, or the captives. Sally's breathing had quietened to a steady rhythm. She helped Minerva to her feet and they made their way slowly and consumed with fatigue towards the village square.

The first signs of morning had approached giving a grey, dismal light to the village. The sight that greeted their eyes was a chaotic and messy one, as was to be expected. Witches and wizards covered in battle filth were helping perform the counter-spells on the victims who had been cursed; others were sitting exhausted from the fighting and unable to even think of raising their wands. Water was appearing out of mid-air and into the hands of everyone there as the need to quench their thirst became impossible to ignore. There were wizards bound together by invisible cords in groups of seven or less. Bodies lay haphazardly all around, some but not many of whom the two witches recognised. Ashley Anderson, the ministry worker who had spoken on behalf of the Ministry in the meetings for the Order lay dead across their path with a blank expression in his still open eyes.

Without speaking Minerva levitated him with a spell and carried him through the square, laying him by the other bodies of witches and wizards who were not as lucky as Minerva or Sally. There were not many dead, but enough. Once the bindings on the prisoners were also cast onto their shouting mouths, the village of Honey Downs fell to complete silence. The reason for this extreme quiet was not only respect and mourning for the dead – a green glow was shining down harshly onto the village square. One family had refused to leave their house, even after they had been advised to by the aurors before the battle began. They had not escaped the purpose of the Death Eaters visit and now the Dark Mark cast a threatening light across Honey Downs and mocked the survivors.

When the anti-apparating spell had been lifted, the medi-wizards and witches began to arrive. The loud pops announcing each of healers were at first out of place in the silence of the village. However, when more started to appear and the work on the wounded began, the noise in Honey Downs began to rise steadily.

Minerva and Sally looked around from where they were walking, near the middle of the village square and saw properly the damage that had been done. A fountain that used to stand proudly in the centre of the village had been blasted by a thousand spells and lay in pieces which were now being crushed by numerous shoes walking slowly or hurrying over them. No one yet had thought to cast the quick spell to repair it. Minerva herself could feel the pieces crumble under her cold feet as she trod carefully over the larger bits of debris. Amongst the glass and brick scattered about from the houses that had been caught in the cross fire along with the fountain, was blood and hair and saliva and pieces of skin and flesh or even whole limbs that had been torn away from the fighters on both sides. They eventually decided not to look down to see where they were treading.

"Sally?" said a quiet voice behind them.

Sally turned quickly and rushed to her husband. Before she had hidden Charles under a hug around his neck, Minerva noticed that he had already been seen to by a healer. His face had been wiped clean of any dirt or blood, he had a bandage over his left eye and his left arm was supported by a sling; he winced as Sally crushed it with the force of her hug. After they had pulled apart Minerva hugged him gently, careful to avoid his injury. No words were spoken but Minerva saw Charles' eyes grow moist and the three of them knew just how lucky they were to all still be alive.

"We should help with the clear up," Sally said, interrupting the silence between them. The three friends headed in the direction in which most of the debris had fallen. As they walked Minerva looked around and saw just ahead of them the long grey hair and deep blue robes of Dumbledore.

"He'll want to see you too, Minerva," Sally said in a quiet whisper so that Charles could not hear. Minerva turned to face her and smiled gratefully, then stepped subtly and silently away from the couple and in the direction of Dumbledore.

As she came closer to him she noticed that he was talking to someone whom she could not quite see. She slowed down, not wanting to interrupt the conversation that had taken Dumbledore away from the prisoners he had been dealing with, and waited. A short while later the Minister for Magic stepped out into view from behind Dumbledore's larger frame and began marching furiously towards the prisoners.

Dumbledore did not turn with him but remained where he was, staring away from the village square, and as Minerva began once again to walk towards him she saw his body move as he sighed deeply. He knew she was there and Minerva knew it. When she reached the point where he was standing she walked around his tall figure and stood closely in front of him, lifting her eyes to his.

His face was like everyone else's – muddy and splashed with other people's blood, and his nose was pink with cold. His grey hair and beard were dyed red in places from the spatter of blood and his robe had ripped at one of the sleeves. He looked tired and frustrated, which Minerva thought was the Minister's doing as well as the battle's.

Dumbledore's eyes moved away from the village houses surrounding them and looked down at Minerva. He was so close that she could partially see her reflection in them. She was filthy, and there was a trail of dried blood from the wound on her forehead going over her temple and down her cheek where it split into two and went either to her lips or over her jawbone and down her neck.

She saw Dumbledore's eyes flick up to the cut and back to her eyes. He smiled warmly down at her. Minerva could see their misty breaths blend together as they stood not saying a word, just thankful that the other was alive. Dumbledore lifted his hand to her neck on the side that was not bloodied, and she ignored the pain that seared over her collarbone where the witch's spell had hit her earlier as his cold fingers curled around her skin. He pulled her towards him and she felt his cold, dry lips place a lingering kiss on her forehead above her cut. Her eyes closed as the sensation flowed down into her body. Seconds later a call from the Minister for Dumbledore was heard. He lifted his hand from Minerva's neck and caressed her cheek with the cold backs of his fingers. She watched as he turned and walked back into the crowded square towards the Minister and his calls.


	19. The Rain Room

_**The Rain Room**_

Minerva and Sally had apparated back to Hogwarts as soon as the clean up had been completed (which did not take long through the use of magic) and were standing outside the gate to the grounds, their clothes and skin still unclean from the battle. Through the gate's bars they could see the pale orange light graze the lawn before them from a ray of the morning sun that had fractured the dark grey mass of clouds and was shining through. As Minerva pushed open the gate a snowflake, dyed orange where the sunlight hit it, fell gently onto her hand. The clouds swiftly covered and swallowed the sun's light so the next snowflake that descended fell white onto Sally's nose. They looked up together and saw thousands of huge snowflakes swirling calmly down towards them from the ominous sky.

The peace that encased the two witches in that moment was overwhelming. As the snow fell silent and beautiful all around them their entire bodies visibly relaxed as the heaviness of a night of fighting eased with the falling snow. Their walk towards the castle was slow and they let the whiteness build up around them. Snowflakes tumbled onto their faces and dissolved on their raw, pink skin, settled in their tousled hair and made it damp; they dived through the steam of their breath and melted in their mouths.

Minerva and Sally reached the entrance to the castle and made their way to Minerva's rooms. Their hands and faces were cold and stiff, but their eyes showed a relief that could only come from escaping a death that had come so close.

When they reached Minerva's quarters both felt the strong need to thoroughly clean themselves. They had not thought about it after the battle, only noticed that they looked filthy. But now the need made itself felt and was overwhelmingly yearned for.

They had been too tired to talk and so had held a comfortable silence all the way from the grounds. However, just as Minerva was about to leave for her private bathroom Sally's words held her back.

"I've been waiting for you to enlighten me, Minerva," she said to Minerva's back as she was walking away and then halted in her steps. Minerva turned around and looked at Sally with an unreadable face. "But I can see that's not going to happen any time soon if I stay quiet."

There was a silence between them which immediately erupted into friction and the air was cracking. Not from Sally; she remained calm in front of her friend, but from Minerva, who had turned to ice at the hint of discussing something very private to her – even if it was with her best friend.

"Enlighten you about what?" she asked bitingly. Sally had known Minerva for a long time; she knew how she would react, and still she could not hold the knife-like stare that Minerva gave her now. She looked down as she spoke, her words still strong, though her eyes were not.

"You've done well to keep it quiet," she said. "Know one else has suspected."

"Suspected what?" Minerva asked, her voice dangerously low.

"When you had been stunned," Sally began, "and there was a danger of the wizard you were duelling with finishing you off, I'd never seen anyone look so frightening as Dumbledore did then." Minerva was deadly silent. Sally looked up and saw that her eyes had lost none of their ferocity. Sally continued, "I hadn't heard of the spell he cast but I imagine the wizard will be unable to do anything for several months. The way he touched you, Minerva, and moved you to safety; the way he whispered to you; I –"

"Sally," Minerva interrupted sharply. "I don't want to hear this."

"But I'm not wrong, am I?" Sally said almost eagerly. "Something has happened?"

"We haven't spoken about it for a while," Minerva told her stiffly with thinning lips and a tightly clenched jaw. She was uncomfortable and knew she shouldn't be because it was Sally, but it was even less comfortable to act without rigidity.

Sally could not hold back her smile and Minerva saw that. "Please don't, Sally," she said, still unable to take the hardness out of her voice and Sally immediately lost her smile. "It's very private," Minerva continued, "and something I'm not going to talk about." She spoke the latter with such finality that the conversation abruptly ceased.

Sally looked at Minerva and gave her a small understanding smile. "I'm going to take a bath by Boris," she told her referring to the Prefect's bathroom on the fourth floor near to the statue of Boris the Bewildered. "But I want to owl Goddard first to see how he's doing."

"Parchment's over there," Minerva said, her voice finally softening. She pointed to a stack of blank pieces of parchment on her living room table.

As Sally moved to the table, Minerva turned and took the long passageway to her enormous bathroom.

Minerva had three options she could choose from – a deep bath the size of a double bed which could flow like a river if you wanted it to or bubble like a volcano; an enormous cubicle where water powered horizontally out at you from all sides through dozens of knut-sized holes in the walls wetting you from your toes to your neck; or a separate room which was whatever size you wished it to be that day. This room rained crushing water down on you beating away the layers of impurity that had laid claim on your skin from the day from a cloud that hung a few feet above and changed colour with the temperature.

Minerva chose the latter; looking forward to water that would fall heavy and hard and cleanse her thoroughly making her forget the conversation with Sally that still played on her mind as the hard water lashed at her skin.

She stepped out of her shoes and stripped, letting her dirty robes fall to the marble ground. The bathroom had already sensed which feature she would use and she heard the water begin to hammer on the floor.

Stepping through a large archway that led from the main bathroom to the Rain Room (which today was the same size as her bath) Minerva felt the hard drops bounce off the floor and spring as high as her knees. She watched as the steam rose and felt it rest on her skin moistening it instantly. Looking up Minerva saw where the water was falling from – a large, dark orange cloud – and smiled as she teased herself, longing to rush under it, but moving slowly and drawing out the pleasure she was already feeling on her skin.

Her cold foot prickled as she made her first step under the gushing shower. The hot water nipped at the icy skin and then quickly soothed it into warmth. She brought her whole body forward and closed her eyes tightly and grimaced with clenched teeth when, for a moment, almost every inch of her skin stung as the water hit her grazes and cuts. She opened her eyes when most of the pain ceased and saw the water flooding down her naked body in browns and reds from the mud and blood that had stained her skin, to the floor where it vanished almost immediately.

The slash from the enemy witch on her collarbone was still throbbing painfully, however. The forceful water (that was now running clear) had washed it clean of any grime but the ache was worse. And it was worsening.

Minerva's mouth shot open in a sudden gasp of pain. She spluttered as she swallowed water with her breath and grasped her shoulder as the pain thumped hard against her collarbone. Then it abruptly weakened for a moment and Minerva, shocked, was able to claim back some control of her breathing which was matching the rapid beating of her heart. Then, all of a sudden, blinding pain burst through the cut and stabbed into her chest and back. Minerva cried out in agony and, still clutching her shoulder, her body was uncontrollably forced to bend double. Breathing was almost impossible now as the pain grew down her chest and back and around her lungs. She fell to the floor gasping for air. She had no breath to cry out. Small black shadows swam before her eyes; then a bigger shadow joined them and it grew and grew until all she could see was blackness.

---

Minerva stirred. Her eyes fluttered and she quickly decided to keep them firmly closed – they were heavy and stung when the flickers of light snuck in. That sting, however, was nothing to the throbbing soreness she felt on the whole left side of her body. It was as if there were tiny people inside her hacking away at her flesh, each chop in time with every other, and to the rhythm of her pulse. She breathed in deeply through the pain and, looking into the dark of her closed eyes, tried to remember why she was waking when she hadn't gone to bed and tried to understand why Devil's Snare was clasped around her left hand. She breathed in deeply and cautiously opened her eyes.

"You're awake," whispered a gentle voice.

Minerva slowly turned her head to her left in the direction of the voice and saw Dumbledore sitting close to her bed with a smile on his face and his eyes glittering in the low light – none of which made sense because he was supposed to be at the Ministry where he went after the clean-up. Her eyes looked down from his face to her left hand and she saw that he had it in his grasp; his thumb moving in slow patterns over her skin.

"You're not Devil's Snare," Minerva told him in a muffled, tired voice.

"Am I not?" replied Dumbledore quietly and with a hint of amusement in his expression. "I must check my mirror more thoroughly next time."

Minerva frowned and then closed her eyes in confusion. She paused for a moment and as she became more awake she grimaced at the realisation that she had said something silly when midway between dreams and actuality. She grumbled self-consciously.

"How are you feeling?" Dumbledore asked when she had recovered from her small embarrassment, driving out all sign of amusement in his tones. His thumb drew patterns slower but harder over her hand as he waited for her answer.

She opened her eyes and stared at the bumps under a blanket that was not her own, where her knees had raised a little.

"Confused," she told him with a bluntness about her feelings which probably would have been absent if she had not just awoken. "Sore. What time is it?" she asked in the same tired voice.

"Late," Dumbledore answered softly. "You should try and get some rest," he added seeing her eyes making an enormous effort to stay open.

"I just woke up, Albus," she told him, perplexed at his request.

"Being unconscious is not the same as sleeping, Minerva. You need real rest now." His voice was quiet and soothing. Minerva grasped whatever sense she could make of his words. She could feel her eyes drooping heavily.

"You made the effort to visit; I should stay awake," she said stubbornly and missed his smile as her eyelids fell once again and she succumbed to the persistent slumber.

"I shouldn't really be here anyway," Dumbledore whispered to the now sleeping witch. He looked at his watch and chuckled, thinking that Minerva's healer would not be pleased if she caught him in the St. Mungo's Hospital ward after visiting hours – at five past three in the morning no less.


	20. Nocens Unda

_**Nocens Unda**_

Minerva was in St. Mungo's. Five days had passed since she had first awoken there and she had quickly discovered that she had been lying unconscious for the past two weeks. That had severely annoyed her. Two weeks gone by in a flash because of some silly battle wound.

It had then turned out that the wound was not so silly after all. As soon as Minerva had asked on the first day she awoke, her boisterous healer, Sulis, explained what had taken place.

"We was workin' on ya for several hours," Sulis had told her in her strong northern accent as she fluffed Minerva's pillows ferociously with her wand. "The spell that caused the laceration to yer chest was a bloody complex one and until we could work out exactly what the soddin' 'ell it was, we were completely at a loss as to the cure."

Minerva was silent, waiting patiently for the robust medi-witch to complete her explanation. Sulis was pouring Minerva some foul smelling, thick, grey liquid in a small silver cup as she continued.

"It took us a long time to figure out what the devil 'ad 'appened to ya," she had said. "I was gettin' bloody frustrated, I can tell ya. Eventually we found out that it was a _nocens unda_ curse."

Minerva had looked at her, puzzled. She had never heard of it before – which surprised her.

"None of the healers 'ad ever 'appened upon it before either," Sulis continued, interpreting Minerva's perplexed expression correctly. "But the witch what cast it obviously knew what she was doin'. We 'ad to look it up in _The Book for Healers – Spells You Will Probably Never Come Across_, which took ages. Eventually we found out that almost as soon as a _nocens unda_ wound hits water the effects of the spell kick in. You're blinkin' lucky Mrs. Goddard was there when it 'appened," she had added.

"So what happens now?" Minerva had asked.

"Keen to get movin', aren't ya?" Sulis said. "Well I'll 'ave to talk to the other healers," she continued, handing Minerva the ghastly liquid and a separate goblet of water to wash it down with. "Ya see we weren't expectin' ya to wake up for at least another week – that's what the book told us anyway, after it gave us the potion formulas to cure ya, so you'll be 'ere a while yet, I'm afraid."

Minerva had done her best to control her annoyance; after all it wasn't Sulis' fault that she was here, but she was already beginning to feel restless.

She was still taking the unpleasant grey medicine by the fifth day. She had been moved to a recovery ward of six beds on the second morning and she had seen at least seven people come and go in the time she had been there, needing it seemed only one day to recuperate before they departed. This annoyed Minerva even more on top of the frustration of losing two weeks of her life and having to sit in bed for five days after that. Her injury was still aching painfully but she could see no reason she had to stay in the hospital.

Sally had been to visit Minerva every day since a St. Mungo's healer had informed her that her friend had awoken. She had brought Minerva her glasses and her books, and had kept her company in the long hours that would have been mind-numbing were it not for Sally's lively conversation.

At this moment she was by Minerva's bedside and could see her silently fuming. Minerva had just been told by one of her other healers that they want her to remain in the hospital for at least another two weeks. The healer had seemed to physically shrink at Minerva's fierce stare as he told her the news, and he almost sprinted from the room when she had retorted furiously.

"I know you're frustrated, Minerva, but they wouldn't do it if they didn't think it was the best thing for you," Sally said in her most calming voice as soon as the terrified healer had left the room.

Minerva heard the pity in her tone and it was the last thing she wanted.

"I'm well aware of that, Sally," she snapped back. "However, they are wrong. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself." The slash to her collarbone unluckily chose that moment to give a very painful twang and Minerva breathed in sharply through her nose as her teeth clenched to keep her from crying out. She had bent forward a little in reaction to the pain and then sat back slowly, avoiding Sally's 'do-you-really-think-so?' expression.

"This is ridiculous," Minerva muttered angrily.

-

On Sally's visit the next day, she had been on her way back from seeing Charles at the Ministry and had stopped by the hospital for a visit.

"I can't be long today, Minerva," she told her with, Minerva noticed, rather more vivacity in her voice. "I just came to bring you this." Sally handed Minerva what was obviously a book, wrapped in rough, brown paper. Turning it over Minerva saw the stamp of _Flourish and Blotts_.

"Could it be a bottle of gillywater?" she said mockingly to Sally, who chuckled and said,

"It's new in apparently, and it has very good acclaim. It's from Dumbledore," she added.

Minerva's eyes flashed at Sally as her eyebrow shot up. She looked down and began to unwrap the book, flipping it over once again to read the front cover: _The Origins of Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch.

As she was reading the cover Sally spoke to her. "Dumbledore said that the author quotes from your paper quite often." Minerva looked back up to Sally with quiet pride, but it lasted only a second and she came back to herself, thinking of the man who did not bring the gift himself.

"Give my thanks to Albus, Sally?" Minerva said with a sharpness edging into her tone.

For a moment Sally looked confused. "I'm sure you'll see him later. You can thank him yourself," she said.

Minerva spoke with restraint, "I haven't really seen him at all. But no matter," she continued quickly, "I'm sure he has other things that he needs to be getting on with." Her voice was dangerously curt and Sally could already hear the refusal to speak further of it in her tone. It was, therefore, with tentativeness that Sally asked her question.

"You haven't seen him yet? Alastor Moody said he's been away from the school almost every night since the battle."

Dumbledore had not returned since the night Minerva first woke and she was beginning to think she had dreamed the whole thing. On the other hand, her dreams had been very eerie and dark – it was always night time and shadows constantly moved illogically and disjointedly around; heads kept appearing in walls, stretching the paint over their faces as they pushed through; plants came alive and suffocated her; things moved under her skin so that she had to tear away at her flesh to get to them, and when she finally did, they had vanished – the dream of Dumbledore was unlike any of these.

"No," Minerva replied shortly.

-

_Minerva was in her cat form walking carefully through the ruins of Honey Downs. The village was decimated and empty. Smoke and dust rose up from the ground blending together and forming dark brown whirling masses. The houses had been set alight long ago and the windows were either nonexistent or broken and black with soot, like their outer walls._

_She carried on walking, her padded paws avoiding the sharp fragments on the ground. She heard a noise and her small tabby face looked up. A black cloak swished round the corner of a house. Minerva could see the fountain of Honey Downs through the empty window frame of this house, sitting in the front room glistening indifferently. She started to trot in the direction of the cloak and something sharp thrust into her left paw sending waves of pain up her front leg to her shoulder._

_Trying to ignore the pain, she was suddenly at the corner of the house. Peering round it she saw the grounds of Hogwarts deeply green and splendid. The black cloak was rustling in the breeze in the middle of the lawn; then another joined it. Minerva the cat saw the second cloak move quickly towards the castle as the witch who wore it ran to the doors._

_She saw the first cloaked figure raise a wand. She had to do something. She performed the fast magic she needed to change back into a human, but her eyes were still close to the ground – the magic hadn't worked. Calming herself she tried again – unsuccessfully. She was still a cat. Running now she reached the first dark figure in the grounds. A spell was about to be uttered._

"_Sally," Minerva tried to call to the witch now running up the castle steps. All that sounded was a loud, haunting mew. The spell was cast by the figure next to her. A green light flashed and Sally's body slumped on the steps. Minerva shouted,_

"NO!"

Her eyes shot open and she sat up in a flash in her bed at St. Mungo's hospital. She cried out as the wound by her shoulder stabbed into her again and again matching the rhythm of her heart. Her right hand raced to it, grasping the bandages in agony. She was bent forwards, her eyes now closed tightly and her face hot and dripping with sweat. She was breathing fast and couldn't control it. She already knew it had been a dream and so was holding back the threatening sobs that were pushing at her throat, lingering there because of her existing pain and because of the agony of not being able to save her best friend from being murdered – even if it was in a dream.

Someone spoke but she heard no words, only the sounds of her gasping breaths as she forced down the tears that pricked at her eyes. They spoke again and still she heard nothing distinct. She felt cool hands on her from behind, one on her right shoulder and the other at her ribs under her left arm and away from the wound. The person spoke again but the words merged together into incomprehensible noise. She ignored them, still trying to push down the angry sobs that were painfully immovable in her airway. She felt the hands pull her gently to lie back on her bed and she complied, not even thinking of resistance. Her breathing slowed once her body was stretched out and she opened her eyes. Tears of pain had bristled and blurred them so that she couldn't focus. She closed them again and waited as the throbbing at her collarbone lessened and the tightness in her throat eased.

The silence seemed short, though in reality it lasted for several minutes as Minerva's senses cleared. With much more clarity she heard the voice again.

"Minerva?" It was Dumbledore. She wasn't ready; the memory of the dream was still too real and fresh on her mind and his voice was so warm. Suddenly the muscles constricted again in her throat and the unwanted tears came back to her eyes. She looked away from the place where she had heard Dumbledore's calm voice and brought her left hand painfully up to her face. Her ribs were hurting because she was holding her breath, not allowing the rough emotion to escape.

It came suddenly. Her chest stiffened and she could no longer hold back the force at her throat. Once it had started she lost her control. Her body heaved with each choked cry and she brought her other hand up, flattening both against her face. She turned her head further into the pillow and away from Dumbledore's scrutiny, trying with each breath to bring herself under control. The pain from her wound was excruciating and the image of Sally's lifeless body would not remove itself from her mind.

Blake suddenly appeared in her thoughts making it even harder then for Minerva to regain control of her body. He stood as he did the last time she had seen him – in the Hogwarts entrance hall laughing with Alastor as a son laughs with his father. This image of Blake turned to her slowly and spoke. His voice sounded far away but the words were unmistakable: _You're a Gryffindor, Minerva. Feel the pain and fight through it. You cannot go backwards._

She knew they were words from her own mind, but having Blake say them to her made them far easier to obey. She realised that if she allowed herself to breathe freely her cries came faster but quieter. Grasping the pain in her mind and breathing through it, concentrating solely on it and not on the images of her friends, she began to quieten and reclaim some power over her breathing.

It was only then that she felt the hand above her temple stroking her hair soothingly. Dumbledore had moved and was standing on the other side of her bed. Her hands were moist with tears and still covered her face. She felt him move his hand as her breathing fell back to close-to-normal rhythm and slide down the side of her face to her wrist, and then down her forearm where it stopped and remained.

"Minerva?" Dumbledore said again.

His voice hummed through her skin and spread relief as it went. However, that relief changed quickly to shame at his seeing her in this way, then suddenly to irritation because he _had_ seen her in this way.

She grabbed the top of her bed covers and wiped the tears from her eyes. Breathing in gasps and sniffing shortly, she lifted herself up – her shoulder causing her some difficulty – and sat up in the bed with her back against the many St. Mungo's pillows.

"Why are you here, Albus?" Her voice was quiet and stuffy but strong. Her red eyes glanced at him for the first time since she had realised he was there and looked for a reaction. There wasn't one; or at least she could not read it in his face. His eyes were kind but he wasn't smiling. He was stood dressed in the travelling cloak he had had since Minerva could remember and his cheeks were still pink from the cold outside. He must have just arrived.

"I came to see how you were," he answered, equalling her quietness. "It seems that you are recovering rather painfully."

Minerva looked away from him and angrily wiped a lone, last tear that had just slipped down her cheek. "I'm doing just fine, thank you," she said irritably.

"It doesn't seem that way to me, Minerva," he said.

"It was just a dream," she told him with impatience.

"No, it was a nightmare," Dumbledore said overriding her claim. "One of many, am I right?"

Minerva glared at him angrily. She was tired of feeling irritated, and the simple fact that she _was_ made her exasperation intensify.

"And why do you presume that?" Her voice thrashed at the air and the wizard a few beds down from hers grunted in his sleep.

"Do you suppose that this is only the second time I have come to see you?" he asked her, still remaining calm in front of the aggravated witch before him.

"What?" she said, her voice losing all acidity in her surprise.

Dumbledore's smile finally glimmered through. "It is simply safer for both of us if I come at night time for–," he gave a small sigh, "so many reasons."

A small part of Minerva's irritation had stilled. She had been so distracted with her aching wound and her need to discharge herself from St. Mungo's and her horrendous nightmares that she had not realised that part of her resentment had been aimed at Dumbledore, and now, she discovered, for no reason.

"How often are you here?" she asked him curiously, her voice quieter now.

"Often enough to know that that was not your first nightmare," he told her with concern embedded deeply in his eyes.

She stiffened once again and her eyes dropped from his. She stared hard at her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"They will pass, Albus," she said quietly but with a cut that echoed her earlier anger.

"I know they will," he replied. "But it does not mean that you have to ignore reassurance when it is freely offered."

Minerva did not respond to that. He was right of course, but an acceptance of support is not something that comes easily to everyone, especially Minerva and especially when she did not think it was necessary. Dumbledore knew this and Minerva knew that he was simply trying to help her to confide in him. She appreciated it, but it did not make it any less challenging.

Minerva watched as he dropped his hand to hers and buried his long fingers between her folded hands.

"The healers are here to help, Minerva. Tell them that your dreams are dark and they will give you a potion for them," he said softly, "I am sure you were intending to tell them."

She looked up at him then. He was smiling sceptically and his eyes shone as they always did over his half-moon spectacles.

"I don't need a potion for them, Albus," Minerva answered. "I'm fine and I wish the healers would just let me leave," she added, displaying her annoyance at being bedridden.

"Of course you do," Dumbledore replied with a chuckle. "I've never seen you stay in one place for so long."

Minerva shot him a maddened look and then winced from the fast movement of her head as her muscles tore at her cut. The pain was quickly forgotten, however, because something else caught her eye at that exact moment. Dumbledore had flinched and grimaceg. She watched as he let a slow breath out through his lips. He was in pain.

"Albus?" Minerva said, a little short of breath but steadier than she usually was after a painful twang at her collarbone.

He looked at her solidly and did not answer. Minerva felt the first realisations of something unknown slide into place in her mind. Slowly and carefully, she sat forwards and moved her legs round so that the balls of her feet touched the cool tiled hospital floor and she could perch on the edge of her bed.

Dumbledore did not move. Minerva was in front of him and her face held a concentration that she had not needed for many days. Her hands moved steadily up towards the catch at his right shoulder on his outer cloak. It fell to the floor.

She slid off her bed and her white hospital robes fell around her when she planted her feet firmly on the floor as she stood. She had not been this close to Dumbledore since the day of the battle and the familiarity of it came flooding back to her. His soft beard brushed at her hands and wrists as she felt his robes for the deep pocket that held his wand. Her fingers wrapped round the hard wood and tingled from the power it held. She pulled it from his robes and he did not protest.

"Show me," she demanded quietly, holding his wand to him.

Dumbledore sighed softly from his nose and she felt his breath swim lightly over the hand that held the wand. His eyes matched hers in their intensity. She felt his cool fingers wrap around hers holding the wand. A soft spell was whispered from his lips and his robes shifted and bundled up and over his left shoulder.

There, as extreme as the intense eyes before her, was the red, raw line of Minerva's wound, mirrored in every way but for her broken skin, under the collarbone of the man before her.


	21. An Evening of Reassurance

**_An Evening of Reassurance_**

_February 1972_

Minerva made her way up to the Headmaster's office at, unfortunately, the loudest part of the day. The Friday evening feast had just ended and the students were coming out of the Great Hall with renewed vigour and cheer. When the formidable professor passed them, however, the energy in their voices shrank and they parted in the bustling corridors to let her through. Since her return, Minerva's reputation of sternness had practically doubled.

Hogwarts, however, had not changed in her absence – except perhaps for the fresh wave of comfort that had settled among its members. It had been over a month since the battle and no more attacks on villages had been made and the Dark Mark had not been seen since it cast its eerie light over the house in Honey Downs.

The Order had had no word of Voldemort's next move. Only a handful of the captured Death Eaters had betrayed their side, and so many of Voldemort's supporters had escaped untouched. This lack of news had reassured the students, but the Order and Ministry were as alert as ever – they were the only ones who knew that the wizarding world was in a quiet war, though unofficially many witches and wizards recognised the signs.

The gargoyle to Dumbledore's office stood sentry. Minerva spoke the password and it leapt smartly aside revealing the modest spiralling staircase Minerva had so often ascended. As she stepped onto the moving stone step she heard loud voices filter through the air and float down to her, growing louder as she rose higher. The Minister's voice came, high-pitched and agitated.

"Why did you not tell me this sooner, Dumbledore?" he said.

"I have already told you, Minister, I was not completely sure of it," Dumbledore replied wearily. "Until now," he added.

"The connection is the most important aspect of this whole event and you are dancing around it as though it's utterly insignificant. You must–"

"I have to disagree with you, Minister," Dumbledore's voice violently punctured the air and silenced the Minister. "The connection has never been the most important aspect."

"We had the best witches and wizards working their hardest on it for years, Dumbledore," the Minister interrupted angrily. "Do not tell me that it was all for nothing."

"We cannot go through with it as originally planned." Dumbledore spoke plainly and quietly but with unmistakable anger. Minerva had never heard such dangerous fury in his voice. She had reached the top of the spiral staircase and was not surprised to find the office door ajar. "I have a visitor, Minister," she heard Dumbledore say on her final step to the large oak door. "We will discuss this another time."

"Dumbledore, I–"

"Thank you, Minister." he said firmly and very finally.

Minerva waited outside the office for the Minister to depart. She heard the shuffling of his robes and cloak and then the burst of flames as the floo powder hit the embers in the grate. Pushing open the heavy door, she stepped over the threshold.

The Minister had gone and the office was glowing golden from the low winter sun beaming sharply through the windows and glinting off every shining surface that caught its light. Dumbledore was standing amongst the glow, close to the large fireplace. He wore a weary expression, which was battling with the obvious frustration in his eyes.

"Is it anything you need my assistance with?" Minerva asked, forgoing any greeting.

Dumbledore spoke into the fireplace; "I'm not sure that anything can help that man, Minerva," he said. He lifted his head and turned finally to look at her. A smile suddenly covered any evidence of the fatigue Minerva had witnessed, and he continued, "Although I am sure you have the potential to terrify him, my dear."

Dumbledore received the exact response he wanted. Minerva's nostrils flared and her lips thinned, but it was her eyes that held the sting.

"Precisely my point," Dumbledore said with a light chortle. Minerva exhaled sharply through her nose.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she said.

"My dear Minerva, forgive an old man's teasing," he responded gently but maintaining his sudden cheeriness. "I seem to recall _I_ had to endure a fair amount of mockery once or twice."

"That was because you deserved it," Minerva said sharply, but the humour in her eyes crept through and softened her remark.

Dumbledore chuckled once again. "You always had a flair for boldness, Minerva," he said.

Minerva walked further into Dumbledore's office and sat down in the firm seat in front of his desk while he continued to stand by the fire. No words were spoken for a long while and they were immersed in silence, both deep in thought.

They had touched briefly upon the unknown cause of Dumbledore's body reflecting Minerva's wound, but a topic that has no answers cannot be discussed for long. The slash under Minerva's collarbone had now closed and healed, leaving behind a vicious looking scar and rare moments of sudden pain. The mark on Dumbledore had vanished.

There was, however, another topic that neither had brushed upon and that both were unwilling yet anxious to discuss.

The silence lengthened and neither were discomfited by it, each immersed in their own musings. It was broken eventually by a loud tapping on Dumbledore's window. Both Dumbledore and Minerva looked around and saw a large barn owl flapping its wings and trying to stay level whilst being jostled around by a brisk wind. They both hurried over to the window; Minerva opening it then closing it quickly after the owl had flown through, whilst Dumbledore took the letter that was clamped in the owl's beak.

"It's addressed to you," Dumbledore said, handing the note to Minerva and looking surprised.

Minerva was equally astonished at how the owl knew where to find her. She looked down at the letter and recognised Sally's hasty scrawl. Opening the parchment, she read:

_Have wonderful news for you both. Stay together. I'll floo to the office as soon as I can. Might be a while yet, unless I can get away. Sally._

Minerva frowned at the note and looked up. She noticed that Dumbledore had placed several tiny pellets in Fawkes's food pot and had manoeuvred the owl onto the empty perch. He was standing by the fire once again, chuckling as he watched the bird finish guzzling its food. Minerva smiled at his merriment as she strode over to the fireplace, stood opposite him and held out the note. She watched as he took it from her and read it through his half-moon spectacles. His eyes darted quickly over the small piece of parchment and his brow creased just as Minerva's had.

"I am assuming she means you," Minerva said shortly. "Though I have no idea why she should be so presumptuous."

Dumbledore glanced up at Minerva and his eyes crinkled with his warm smile. "Neither do I," he said. "Although I am rather pleased that she was."

The owl had fallen asleep and was hooting softly with each quiet breath; the fire was crackling merrily in the grate and the wind outside had picked up and was raging violently against the windows – all of this was perfectly normal, but a sudden change had struck the atmosphere of Dumbledore's office. He took a step closer to her, dropping the letter into the fire.

"We have left this too long, Minerva." His voice was gentle and Minerva felt a rush of quivering stir in her stomach. She looked up to his face where his eyes danced, luminous and magnificent in the firelight.

He stretched out a finger and brushed away a loose strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Minerva could not help but smile. The fire erupted in the grate, but neither she nor Dumbledore paid it any heed. The feeling of elation within them both was too great to ignore. Amongst the despair of the last few months, finally a moment of happiness had burst through and charged over the gloom. A single sentence brought to the surface what had been so emphatically confined within them.

Minerva closed the gap between them with a small step, very much aware of the now golden glowing room. She was so close to him now that she could see each individual eyelash that framed his vivid blue eyes. His face drew closer and her eyes closed, leaving only the feel of surging of blood as it rushed through her veins and the sensation of his lips as they pressed onto hers.

x x x

Minerva's head rested in the crook below Dumbledore's shoulder as they both sat comfortably on his sofa in front of the remaining embers of the fire. She had moved his long beard to one side and had placed her hand on his chest, her fingers tracing the outline of a silver feather that was embroidered into his robes. The weight of his arm was heavy around her waist and she could hear his heavy breathing.

"Are you asleep?" Minerva whispered softly into his robes.

"I'm wide awake," Dumbledore replied. Minerva looked up to his face and saw that Dumbledore's eyes were firmly closed. "Sing something, Minerva," she heard him murmur.

"Pardon me?" she replied, somewhat taken aback.

"Sing something," Dumbledore repeated from his comfortable spot on the sofa.

"No, Albus."

"Why not –"

"Albus, you don't want me to sing," she said, interrupting firmly.

"Yes, I do," he said

"Albus," she said resolutely, "I was the one voted out of nursery rhymes."

Dumbledore opened his eyes and looked down at Minerva. When he saw her eyes sparkling with amusement he gave a chuckle.

"I never liked nursery rhymes anyway," he said. "They are never as agreeable as they seem, what with cradles plummeting to the ground from treetops and such like."

He had closed his eyes again and his voice had become drowsy. Minerva moved the obstruction from around her waist and pushed her hand gently onto Dumbledore's chest, lifting herself from her relaxed position. Dumbledore nestled further down into the sofa as Minerva stood up and reached for her wand. She flicked it at the fire place and the flames roared to life. Then it swished over the table in front of the sofa and a large mug of hot chocolate appeared, together with a bowl of the boiled yellow sweets Dumbledore called sherbet lemons.

"You are too kind, Minerva," he said with his eyes still closed and his voice still muffled with sleepiness.

"Sally should be here soon," Minerva informed him. She looked at the clock on the wall that had been taken from the transfiguration classroom years before. "It's almost midnight," she exclaimed.

She sat back down, perching on the edge of the sofa, folding her hands in her lap and looking into the fire for any sign of Sally. She felt Dumbledore stir and saw as he lifted himself up and perch beside her. His hand moved between her waist and her arm, brushed over her thigh and slid it between her hands.

Minerva turned her head to look at the man beside her and was startled when he kissed the tip of her nose. She could feel her cheeks colour faintly and was unsure why. Dumbledore smiled fondly at her.

"She knows, you know," he said softly.

Minerva looked down at Dumbledore's hand still clasped between hers. She smiled self-consciously, almost laughing, and twisted her fingers around his.

"Knows what?" she said, keeping her eyes on their tangled hands. Her smile remained. They had never openly spelled out any of what was happening between them, as if saying it out loud would brand it in some awful way.

"The reason you're smiling like that," he answered. "The reason I'm by your side right now." He spoke in a whisper that raised the hairs on her arms.


	22. PART 3: Crucio

**PART THREE**

_**Crucio**_

_December 1976_

A terrible fear had reigned the wizarding world for close to five years. Five long years. It was the threat of open war that had cast this terror over the witches and wizards of the country, but war had still not come. Lord Voldemort and his followers had remained still and silent, and the waiting was frightening. Not a single member of the Order or the Ministry knew any of what was to come, and the darkness that this had plunged them all into was unsettling to say the least.

Until one very cold, very dark winter morning, when something stirred on the wind. A whisper reached the Order that Voldemort was about to surface once again, and this time he would bring something far more terrible and deadly. Voldemort and his followers had been waiting in the shadows, and now the shadows were stirring.

x x x

Minerva walked into Sally and Charles's large manor house, which, from the outside, looked wild, derelict and unwelcoming. Within it, however, was the secret Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore had chosen the place and Sally and Charles had accepted delightedly.

The entrance hall was dark, but the door to Minerva's right had an inviting, yellow glow around its edges. She heard the voices of at least a dozen people come from within it and when she pushed open the door, the many faces of Order members turned to her and the room fell to silence.

The Order had changed dramatically since it had first formed and was almost unrecognisable as the same group. Many more people had been recruited, including a few students who had only recently graduated from Hogwarts.

Minerva did not utter a word. The great, blazing fire built into the wall to her left was wrapping her in its heat and voicelessly calling her to it. She walked slowly and stiffly through the quiet crowd, aware that her exhausted appearance must be a cause for some concern. It was past three o'clock in the morning and she was supposed to have returned over three hours ago.

Reaching the fire, she held out her hands to it. She stood with her back to the silent room, her freezing hands stinging painfully from the blistering heat of the flames in the grate, until she heard footsteps walk towards her.

"Here, Professor," a voice said, and Minerva heard the muffled thuds of the feet of an armchair being put onto the rug to one side of the hearth. It was Elphias Doge who spoke, one of the newest members of the Order.

"Thank you, Elphias," she replied, speaking for the first time and becoming aware of how her exhaustion had made her voice hoarse.

She sat down heavily in the proffered chair; the heat of the fire remained warm against her skin. She looked up at Elphias and lifted her eyebrow at the ridiculous hat that was perched on his head.

"And please don't call me that," she said. "Minerva will be quite sufficient."

"Anything to report, Minerva?" Dorcas Meadowes asked.

Minerva sighed. "No," she replied.

She looked around the room properly for the first time. Dumbledore was not back yet from his errand with Sally; Charles was absent because he had replaced Minerva at her post – a large mound with a warren running through it on a vast, desolate hilltop. It was their job to watch the place where a small group of Death Eaters had recently started to meet. They were stationed at a very prominent position (where only animagi could go unnoticed) at an entrance to the warren where they would crouch in their animal forms. Charles took the form of a hare. He had been three hours late this night, however, because little Charlie had been ill.

This was another change within the last few years. Sally and Charles had had a child, Charles Bran Blake Goddard – Sally's surprise of nearly five years ago. The boy was four now and he was the heart and soul of the couple.

"Here you go, Minerva." Alastor Moody stepped towards her, holding a steaming mug of tea in his hands.

"Thank you," Minerva said gratefully. "Any news?" she asked the group.

Faces suddenly looked sullen or aggravated – or both. The Order knew that something big was about to happen, but it had been near to impossible to gather any information. No one answered Minerva's question. She looked hopelessly into the fire. Part of her wished that Voldemort would act now, if only to ease the strained and nervous minds of the Order. She sighed for the second time that night. The room was still silent when she spoke again.

"We'll keep trying. We won't –" she stopped. She felt the familiar prickling at the base of her neck and looked towards the door. The Order members frowned at her, and then their eyes followed her gaze uncertainly.

Dumbledore and Minerva had never mentioned the strange magic that surrounded them to anyone. Sally was the only person who knew of its existence. The beautiful scenes they could create around them in their most intimate moments were private and rarely even discussed between the two of them. It had become a part of their daily lives, and they had both leaned to accept it as such, because no matter how hard Minerva tried, she could not discover what magic lay behind it.

The room was still for several long moments, until they heard the squeak of the large front gates, then quiet footsteps up the manor path and finally the click of the front door as it was opened.

After a few more seconds of waiting, the door to the room that was crowded with Order members opened and the first thing Minerva saw was one deep purple, buckled shoe step over the threshold.

-

"We have news."

Dumbledore was seated in an armchair he had conjured for himself and placed on the other side of the fire, opposite Minerva. His face was drawn and he looked as exhausted as Minerva felt. Some of the Order were sitting now, around a table close by their armchairs, their eyes intent upon Dumbledore. Others, including Sally who had returned with Dumbledore, were standing quietly, waiting for him to continue.

"Not including Minerva and Charles' post, Voldemort's followers are grouping in four different areas of the country, as far as we know; One north, one south, one east and one west of London," he said. "I believe this is strategic – a means of attack."

Sturgis Podmore gasped, surprised. "You don't think they're planning on attacking the Ministry of Magic, do you, Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore looked up. "I think that that is looking more and more likely, Sturgis," he replied

More gasps were heard in the suddenly rigid room.

"But that's got to be almost impossible, Albus," Minerva said, shocked at this new revelation.

Dumbledore gave his full attention to the woman in front of him.

"Not if Voldemort," (several people winced at the name) "still has high ranking Ministry members working from the inside, Minerva, even if some of them are under the imperious curse. The Ministry walls have little defence. No; it will be quite easy for him to attack it. We _must_ prevent it." His final words were directed to the whole room, his voice louder and more urgent.

"How can we prevent such an attack with so few of us against so many, Dumbledore?" asked Benjy Fenwick tensely.

Dumbledore was silent, which was something nobody in the room expected.

"It is late," he said finally. "We will meet again at a more sensible hour and answer your question then Benjy.

After several long minutes of farewells and many sideways glances at Dumbledore, the members of the Order dispersed to their homes or to their various duties, and only Sally, Minerva and Dumbledore remained. Dumbledore drew up a chair with his wand for Sally and they sat by the fire in silence, each too tired and too occupied with their own thoughts to speak.

At half past four, Sally bid them goodnight and went to quietly check on Charlie, leaving Minerva and Dumbledore alone. When the door had clicked closed Minerva looked at Dumbledore properly. His eyes were closing with sleep and did not hold their usual twinkle; his face was marked with more lines then she remembered from the day before and his mouth turned downward slightly, something she rarely saw in his features.

"You need to rest, Albus," she said to him gently. Standing up she took hold of his hands and pulled him to his feet. As he stood before her, her eyes, once again, travelled over his drawn face.

"I am not the only one," he eventually replied, looking back at Minerva. "How was your charge today?" he asked her, pulling her towards him and placing a kiss on her forehead.

Minerva sighed into his grey beard, now flecked with specks of white. "Fruitless," she replied simply. "Charles is there now," she continued drowsily, "but he was looking very worn-out." Her voice held a hint of concern beneath her exhaustion.

"We all are," Dumbledore said against her forehead so that his words rumbled through her skin. "We are in uncertain times and the tension is putting further strain on our work. Charles is an excellent wizard, Minerva. I am sure there is no need to worry." He put his hand under Minerva's chin and lifted her face so he could look at her. His eyes had retrieved some of their sparkle; "I will check on him a little later on, if you like."

Minerva smiled at him. "No, I'm sure you're right. He'll be back safe and sound in a few hours," she said, more to herself than to Dumbledore. "We should get back to Hogwarts."

x x x

"Professor McGonagall?"

In the afternoon of the next day Minerva found herself in her office after her final lesson had ended, marking the homework of her forth years which, in her opinion, was dreadful. And one of the students had handed in his Herbology homework instead. She tore her eyes away from an open scroll on her desk that was neatly crowded with the other numerous rolls of parchment from the forth years.

"Yes, Lupin?"

"I'm ready to go down now, Professor."

"Be sure no one sees you," Minerva replied sharply; then her expression softened. "How are you feeling?"

Remus Lupin shrugged but did not answer.

"Well," Minerva continued, "let me know if there is anything you need."

She felt great sympathy for the polite sixth year Gryffindor. Every month he had to endure these horrific transformations, always knowing that they will never stop until his life was over.

"Thank you, Profes–"

Lupin didn't get the chance to finish his sentence. Minerva's office door suddenly burst open and Dumbledore strode in hurriedly, walking past Lupin and straight up to Minerva's desk.

"You must come quickly, Minerva," Dumbledore said. She could feel the dread that was tightening his chest, and her own tightened because of it.

"What has happened, Albus?" Minerva said quickly, standing up and flicking her wand at her cloak, which then flew into her hand.

Lupin stood watching his two professors with interest.

"Not here," Dumbledore said, finally stealing a glance at the curious pupil. He put his arm around Minerva's waist and gently pushed her towards the door and out into the corridor. Lupin followed them out. Minerva flicked her wand again and her office door shut with a snap behind them.

Dumbledore stopped and turned to see Lupin staring after them.

"Be on your guard, Mr. Lupin," he said gently, then ushered the transfiguration professor away.

The marble entrance hall of Hogwarts was cold, but as they stepped through the front doors and into the icy grounds they felt a chill that reached their very bones. Dumbledore was walking speedily through the grounds with Minerva hurrying at his side. When they reached the gates Dumbledore turned to her and said, "To the Headquarters, Minerva," and with a _pop_ he was gone.

Minerva was by his side once again a second later. They hurried up the gravel path which led up to the great manor that they could not apparate into.

"What's going on, Albus?" Minerva asked him frantically as they reached the door. Dumbledore finally stopped. He turned to Minerva and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a single word, the front door of the manor burst open and Sally came running out, her eyes bloodshot and her face streaked with tears. She ran between Dumbledore and Minerva without stopping. Dumbledore headed after her and Minerva followed, but before they had caught up with her, she had reached the gate and had apparated.

Minerva grabbed Dumbledore's wrist, hard. "Tell me what's happening," she demanded forcefully.

Dumbledore turned his face to hers and what she saw shocked her immediately. His eyes were moist, though no tears had been shed, and he looked overwhelmingly anxious.

"Charles." Minerva spoke the word in the quietest of whispers, hardly aware that she had spoken at all.

Dumbledore continued to look at her. He was holding in his emotion, though only just. "He was found out, Minerva. we don't yet know how," Dumbledore said with care. "And he was killed."

Something broke inside Minerva; she was as still as stone as Dumbledore's words travelled towards her. Then suddenly dozens of thoughts rushed to her mind at the same time. Sally, Charlie, Minerva's unmanned post, the Order of the Phoenix as it stood on the edge of a knife, Blake, Charles' parents, and more besides.

Minerva suddenly felt sick. She was breathing hard and was all too aware of people standing at the door leading into Sally and Charles' house. Alastor Moody pushed his way to the front and walked sombrely out to greet Dumbledore and Minerva.

Minerva couldn't look at him as he reached them. She knew that just one sympathetic glance would be all it would take for her to break down, and no one needed or wanted to be burdened with the task of comforting someone who did not desire it.

-

Many quiet hours had past. Fabian Prewitt, a favourite of Charlie's, had put the small boy to bed. No one had been able to locate Sally, and Minerva's worry was now evenly balanced with her contained grief.

"Where could she _be_?" Minerva said urgently to Dumbledore after she had returned from looking for Sally at St. Mungo's, where Dumbledore had taken Charles' body. For several hours she had been forcing herself to concentrate and think past the grief that had settled heavily in her chest.

Suddenly, Dumbledore's eyes shot to Minerva's, and her own widened. Something flashed in their minds. No words were needed. They ran out of the house, (explaining nothing to the surprised crowd that they ran between) down the manor path and with two _pops_ were standing on the top of the hill at the apparation point by Minerva and Charles' post. They couldn't see Sally, but they had expected that. They ran across the hill towards the large mound of earth that was the post, both pulling their wands out of their cloaks with speed.

Minerva's ears were filled with the sound of rushing wind as if she had been plunged into racing water. Her face and hands were freezing and her eyes watered with the cold as it stabbed at her face.

Then a sound was heard over the roaring wind in their ears. It was the sound of screaming. Screams of pain – pain far beyond that of any human endurance.

Minerva and Dumbledore stopped, stunned, when they first heard it. It was inhuman; it shattered the air and echoed unbearably across the hilltop. The mound was just in front of them, and Sally was beyond their vision on the other side.

"No!" Minerva shouted after the shock at hearing the screams quickly subsided. She made to run over the mound and get to Sally, but felt Dumbledore's arms grab her around her middle and hold her back. Minerva was struggling to get free; she needed to help Sally, she was in so much pain.

"Minerva, stop!" Dumbledore's voice was forceful against Minerva's resistance. The struggle lasted a few seconds longer, but Minerva, knowing she could not release herself from his strong grasp, eventually became still. "We must go cautiously, Minerva," he said over Sally's horrifying screaming. "We do not know who is there."

Dumbledore's implication was clear. Minerva was breathing very fast. Her wand was slipping in her sweating hand. Composing herself and concentrating, her body shrank and fell forwards and without a glance at the wizard beside her, her cat form raced over the mound in front of them. Before she got there however, Sally's screams stopped abruptly and were replaced by a terrible moaning. The curse had been lifted.

Minerva saw her lying crumpled and writhing in agony. Her wand lay several feel away from her, but Minerva could see no one else in the vast expanse of green before her.

Turning back into her natural form, she ran over to Sally, Dumbledore close behind her. They both rushed to their knees as they reached her. Sally's face was twisted in pain and her face was drenched with sweat and tears. Minerva's own tears were flowing freely now, but silently. Dumbledore hoisted Sally into his arms. They had to get her to St. Mungo's.

x x x

Sally lay, murmuring constantly by Minerva in a bright white St. Mungo's bed on the fourth floor. The healers had told Minerva that Sally was not sleeping, for her mutterings were not those of a dream. She was unconscious and had been in the same state for three days.

"It is not her mind that's causing her to mutter," a medi-wizard had told Minerva on the first day. "It's the effects of the curse. I've dealt with only one victim of the _cruciatus curse_ before." He looked at Minerva sympathetically. "I'm sorry, but this does not look good. Not good at all."

Minerva sat, late on the third day, as if under a spell, with Sally's hand in hers. It was too late for visiting hours but Dumbledore had been by her side when she had arrived an hour ago and no one said a word. He was gone now, and Minerva was alone with Sally, who had a room to herself – apparently the staff of St. Mungo's had thought her a danger. Her wrists and ankles were magically bound so that she couldn't move. The medi-wizard had told Minerva that this was for the safety of the healers. Sally had lashed out in her unconscious state within the first two hours of being admitted. The healers had no choice but to restrain her.

A yell sounded down the corridor and jolted Minerva out of her trance. She was surprised when she realised that she had been thinking of nothing; her mind had been utterly blank and she had simply been staring, unfocused. Never had she felt so hollow. Over the past three days she had shed many tears for Charles and for Sally. It was impossible to cry any more. Her eyes had dried up and been replaced with an emptiness that felt as though it would never be filled.

She knew that Sally would not come back to her. The healers had said as much. Minerva had been looking for Sally for hours before she and Dumbledore had found her. Who knows how long she had been under the terrible curse. Sally lay before Minerva whimpering now every few seconds. Her hair was no longer wispy and blonde, but a dull white and her eyes were sunken and encircled with dark shadows. She looked ghostly and scared.

Minerva stared as Sally lay restless and bound to her bed. She wanted to cry; wanted to feel the raw emotion of grief burst from her again. But it would not come. It remained pressing heavily against her chest and inside her head, but would not break out.

All of a sudden, Sally screamed. It was long and ear-splitting and would not stop. Minerva let go of Sally hand as she leapt out of her chair. She looked at Sally, horrified. She had no idea what to do. The hospital had suddenly come alive with yells and shrieks. Sally's scream was setting off other patients in the ward, and a great noise was building up.

Minerva looked through the frosted glass of the door to Sally's room and saw people running past it in both directions, but no one came inside.

Then the screaming abruptly stopped. Sally was suddenly quiet. There was a ringing in Minerva's ears and her heart was racing from the shock. She looked back at Sally whose eyes were still closed in unconscious oblivion. Would she be like this forever? Minerva asked herself.

She was still standing, looking over Sally's changed form when she felt a hand slide over her shoulder. She stood motionless as she felt Dumbledore gently embrace her from behind. Something stirred in her ever so gradually – if anyone were to fill the void that had been left inside her from the death of her three best friends, it would be this man who held her now. He spoke to her gently.

"Minerva, you have been here too long. You must not torment yourself by watching Sally like this. Come back with me now."

Minerva only half heard the words he spoke, but felt him steer here away from the bed and allowed it. She could not stay there any longer to watch the madness take hold of her best friend. She would visit again when Sally was conscious; things would seem better by that time. But that was a hope she dared not voice.


	23. Nightmares

_**Nightmares**_

It was midnight when Dumbledore and Minerva arrived at Hogwarts and he had walked her to his office. She had been silent the entire journey back and her mind had reclaimed its unthinking blankness. She saw nothing of the journey through the hospital; she had apparated through habit with barely a thought; and the bitter cold of the Hogwarts grounds went by unnoticed as they walked up to the castle. It was only when she was steered inside Dumbledore's office and the door had closed behind them that Minerva regained some thought.

She had not seen Dumbledore for three days – from when he had left Sally at St. Mungo's the day she had fallen, to the moment he had walked with Minerva to the hospital earlier this night. He had been working for the Order, trying to find out what had happened to Charles. Minerva, when she was not visiting Sally, had remained at Hogwarts, never so glad that it was the school holidays.

Minerva was standing in the middle of Dumbledore's office, not knowing where to look or what to say or do. Dumbledore walked around her from his door and faced her. They had had no chance to talk about what had happened, so both had been alone in dealing with the first few days of their grief. Minerva lifted her face to his and saw that his eyes were full of tears. She knew he did not weep for Charles and Sally alone. He also grieved for her.

Without a single word, Dumbledore's arms wound around Minerva's shoulders. She felt one of his hands press between her shoulder blades and the other against the back of her head just under her high, tight bun and he pulled her closer. She stepped forward into his embrace and he held her tightly. She pressed her face into his beard and the eyes she had thought as dry as ash were suddenly filled with tears once again; the empty space inside her began to be pervaded by that familiar terrible, painful sorrow, but this time it was mixed with the gratitude that she felt for the man holding her closely. His simple presence, his being by her side in this moment was like a warm hand taking hold of the coldness that had invaded her body and holding it steadily, preventing it from spreading any further through her.

She couldn't speak. Her sobs were being wrenched from her throat. She wrapped her arms around his waist and clutched him tightly, trying impossibly to pull him closer to her. Her body shook uncontrollably as she stood bound by his embrace. She did not try to hold back this time. Her grief was so unbearable that she couldn't suppress it. But as her cries were torn from her body, they seemed to release some of the pain with them.

Several minutes had past with Dumbledore and Minerva standing together in the middle of the office. Steadily, Minerva regained control of her breathing, and slowly her sobs reduced. Dumbledore's beard was uncomfortably wet against her face, so she brought one of her hands back from around his waist and swept it between the long whitening beard and her face, brushing away the wisps of his hair that had stuck to her moist cheeks.

She sniffed and leaned back slightly to look up into Dumbledore's face. He looked down at her and she could see that his own tears had fallen silently, in unison with hers. His tears had now ceased, however, unlike her own, which were still flowing freely, but now silently, down her face.

Still no words had been spoken between them. Minerva did not want to talk. What could she say right now that would make any sense? Her thoughts seemed chaotic; they were badly ordered in her mind and she could not make sense of them.

She leant her cheek against Dumbledore's chest and staring at the fire several feet to her right, her arms back to wrapping themselves tightly around his waist. Dumbledore rested his chin on the top of her head and his breath swept over her hair. Minerva could hear his heartbeat beneath his robes and tried to concentrate on it, instead of the unhappy and disordered thoughts in her mind. After a while Dumbledore spoke into the silence that quilted the room.

"I know what you're feeling, Minerva." His voice sailed softly through her head. "I can feel it through you," he whispered.

This simple statement caused a fresh wave of silent tears to run down Minerva's face. Her chin began to itch where her tears were pooling together and dripping onto Dumbledore's robes. She brought up a hand and wiped them away, then moved it back and entwined her fingers again around Dumbledore's waist. Her voice seemed to be trapped in her throat, but after a few moments she found it and managed to whisper, "I know." Her breath was watery with emotion.

x x x

Minerva slept in her own quarters that night. The school holidays seemed to be an invitation for students to roam the school at night in search of an adventure and, though Dumbledore maintained that she needed company, she did not consent to stay with him.

They had remained in his office for a while longer after Minerva's tears had subsided. He had told her that, in spite of his enormous efforts, nothing so far had been found out about Charles. No one seemed have heard anything and the Order were beginning to speculate that the Death Eaters had simply heard a movement or seen Charles in his hare form and killed him on impulse, not having any idea that he was a spy, or even a human for that matter.

Minerva had also asked about Sally and Charles' son, Charlie. Being only four years old, he did not yet fully understand what had happened to his parents. No one had thought it a good idea for him to see Sally yet and so, as Dumbledore informed Minerva, he had been taken to Charles' parents. Minerva thought this a good idea – they still had Dave, the Goddard family's very old winged-horse. Charlie would like that. She had never bonded properly with the child. She had always been too busy, but now, having been one of Sally and Charles' closest friends, a small feeling of regret lay heavily in her stomach.

It was well past two o'clock when Minerva had left Dumbledore's office to go to her rooms in the castle. She met not a single person or ghost on her way, and the only noises that disturbed the silence were her heels clicking sharply on the flagstones and the wind howling against the windows.

Minerva was in bed almost immediately after she reached her quarters. The night outside was a cold and blustery one. She had lit her bedroom fire and could hear it roaring in a mixture of aggressive flames and violent winds rushing down the flue as she lay in the warmth of her bed, but sleep came soon after her head relaxed into her pillow.

-

_Minerva looked up from her Transfiguration notes. The light outside the classroom window had drastically darkened as the hours had worn on. She had been so absorbed that she was unaware of this, until a rustling outside her door had distracted her from her work. Surprised at the darkness she had been unknowingly working in, she lit the lamps surrounding her and glanced at the clock on the wall. She rubbed her eyes and re-checked the clock that was telling her the time. It was Dumbledore's. She wondered why it wasn't in his office._

_She lifted herself from her chair and, forgetting her notes, walked towards the door of the transfiguration classroom, eager to embrace the approaching sensation of sleep. As she walked passed, the lamps on the walls faded behind her, and the ones ahead of her in corridors lit of their own accord as she approached. Minerva registered this as strange then thought no more of it._

_The lights of the castle were shadowy as she began to walk down a corridor which seemed to go on forever. It became dimly lit by torches that held a muted flame as she drew near them, each lamp suspended on a high bracket all along the walls. The whole castle was silent. Minerva's bare feet were cold against the stone slabs and became colder with each step._

_The mind plays tricks on its owner in the eerie silence and sinister darkness of Hogwarts late at night. This was why, when Minerva saw a figure clad in a black cloak ahead of her, then disappear into the shadows of the straight dark corridor that went on without an end, she supposed it to be a trick of the light. She continued walking forward._

"Crucio_."_

_The single whispered word stopped Minerva in her tracks, sending a cold chill down her spine and making her heart thump against her chest. Her wand was in her hand. She did not remember reaching for it. Her breathing became fast and erratic, but she remained silent as her bare feet began to step slowly and quietly down the passageway, her wand gripped in a strong clutch. The murmured curse, she was sure, came from the shadows looming ahead where the black cloak had just vanished. Suddenly, Minerva could see nothing ahead of her. Her vision was blocked by an overwhelming darkness. The lamps had gone out._

_Minerva continued walking in the pitch darkness, her wand remaining in her hand. She'd forgotten how to perform the _lumos_ charm and she didn't know why._

_The whispered curse was still ringing unsettlingly in her ears._

_Then someone screamed. They screamed and screamed and the corridor was filled with the shattering sound. Minerva's heart pounded harder and faster. It was a terrifying sound. It came from behind her. She turned quickly and found herself face to face with a solid stone wall blocking the path she had just taken. Frowning she quickly turned back. But _that_ direction was now blocked by a stone wall. She was trapped. All around the walls towered high above her; the screaming was still there. One long high-pitched note that seemed as though it would never stop. Minerva pressed her hands to her ears. That was hopeless, so she pushed her palms instead against the walls, harder and harder. She was panicking. With every turn she made, the walls seemed to be closer, closing in on her. She could feel the sweat beading at her temples; hear herself moaning and crying out as she struggled. Something touched her shoulder. A hand. She spun around. Sally._

Minerva awoke with a start, breathing so hard that her chest was hurting. She was drenched in sweat and tears. It took her a few minutes to become used to her surroundings, and in those minutes she had sat up, reached for her wand and was holding it at the ready.

After her rational thought connected with her real location, she lowered her wand and tried to steady her trembling breaths. She covered her face with her hands and pushed her fingers firmly against her eyes. After a while, Minerva sunk back into her pillow for the second time that night, her face still covered. She could see Sally face so vividly in her mind. She had stood only inches away from Minerva. Her body was skeletal - her lifeless eyes wide and frightened, boring into Minerva's; her skin stretched tightly across her skin as white as chalk and matching the colourlessness of her hair. Minerva pushed her fingers harder into her eyes, trying to dispel the terrifying image.

She rolled over in her bed, attempting to clear her mind of any thought at all. As easy as it had been before however, sleep was reluctant to claim her this time. She had been jolted awake so violently and, despite the overwhelming tiredness that still pervaded her body, the rest of Minerva's night was spent on the boundary of wake and sleep. Such howling and screaming was heard, and at times she did not know whether it was in the world of dreams or reality. She left her bed at sunrise, irritated and exhausted.

-

In the Great Hall Minerva sat in a stony silence, waiting for Dumbledore to arrive so that breakfast could begin. She knew that if she spoke to anyone she would snap, and therefore she remained quiet, her lips tightly clenched together in a thin white line in an attempt to hold in the biting remarks of reproach that were threatening to escape from them.

Most of the faculty knew about the death of one of Minerva's close friends and the incurable injury of another, although they had no idea of the particulars, as the Order was still a great secret. They had offered their condolences over the last three days and were sorry for her, but this morning they knew that something had changed. Something else other than a deep sadness was troubling Minerva and she held an air that told everybody to take a huge step back.

Dumbledore appeared only a couple of minutes after Minerva and sat in the centre chair with a grave look on his face. There was a rather larger number of students than usual staying for the Christmas holidays this year and, within seconds of Dumbledore's being seated, the noise level shot up as a marvellous variety of food appeared in front of them and crowded the tables.

Having glanced at Minerva several times throughout the first few bites of his breakfast, Dumbledore decided to speak.

"Forgive my intrusion, Minerva, but you are looking rather off-colour this morning," he said gently and with deep concerned.

Minerva knew that as she turned towards him he could see her pale face, tired eyes and irritated expression.

"I'm fine, Albus," she responded automatically but through clenched teeth. She noticed his troubled expression and, taking a deep breath through her flared nostrils, she attempted to relieve him of his anxiety through her next calming words.

"I did not sleep particularly well last night, and have been awake since daybreak, that is all."

"Very well," he replied, quite obviously unconvinced, but understanding that it was not a matter to be discussed at the breakfast table.

Minerva's irritation faded a little throughout breakfast because of the happy lack of concerned questions that had frequented the staff table in the recent days. On the other had, her unhappiness seemed to gradually encroach upon her, or rather she could feel it more because she becoming less irate. Her back remained as straight as ever, but her head was bowed, her left arm lay limp across her lap, while her right fingered the toast on her plate.

She missed Sally. She missed Charles. She missed Blake. Her eyes prickled and she forced the threatening tears away. She would not become emotional in public. Trying to force her mind to focus on something else, anything, she found that it settled upon Dumbledore. How is it that a witch and a wizard can be connected to each other so deeply and neither of them know the meaning or cause of it? Why, after so many years, had Dumbledore of all people not discovered the reason? Minerva herself had checked book upon book and had found nothing, but Dumbledore was far better connected than she to important members of the wizarding community. How is it that none of them know anything about it? Surely Dumbledore had enough discretion mention it but keep the particulars concealed.

These were thoughts that had danced around Minerva's mind for years. Dumbledore had begun to insist that there was no explanation; that they both just had enough power in them to cause their strong emotions to leak into the physical world. Not like a teenager's accidental explosions and such like, but a much calmer and deeper form of magic. This line of thought, even as it came from Dumbledore's lips, had never sat quite right with Minerva. The peculiar magical link between them had now become an aspect of their daily lives. Another element that concerned Minerva was the fact that Dumbledore never seemed to want to discuss Minerva's (and consequently his own) injury - most of the time he acted as though it had never happened at all.

At that moment, Minerva's reverie was disturbed by Dumbledore's hand moving subtly over the arm of his chair and reaching for Minerva's, which had remained resting in her lap. She looked down as Dumbledore's fingers travelled over her skin and curl around her own.

They had kept their relationship as secret as they had kept the Order, but it had been a difficult path. Of course they had shared moments of tenderness and intimacy, but their discretion had meant that those moments were infrequent and Minerva had felt Dumbledore slipping away. The battle and Minerva's injury seemed to have brought them closer for a while, but in the recent years, Dumbledore's work for the Ministry and both their exertions for the Order and the school seemed to have forced them further apart.

Dumbledore's hand over Minerva's was a comfort that came so infrequently now that she welcomed it more than was usual. Last night's closeness was simple affectionate consolation, but this simple gesture in front of the eyes of the witches and wizards surrounding them, was offered lovingly and with a tenderness that only Dumbledore could bestow upon her.

She looked up from their entwined fingers to Dumbledore. He was looking at her with such intensity in his eyes that, for a fleeting moment, she was taken aback. But she offered him a smile and he seemed to relax a little. Seconds later, however, Dumbledore's silence started attracting stares from the staff and Minerva felt his hand slip away, but not before she felt him squeeze her hand gently.

"I need to speak with you after lunch, Minerva," Dumbledore said turning back to his unfinished breakfast. Minerva looked at him curiously.

"Are you busy this morning?" she asked quietly.

Dumbledore turned back to her.

"I have some business I need to take care of," he replied mysteriously. "Come to my office when I return. You will know when that is."

Dumbledore stood up over his unusually unfinished breakfast and bid his 'good mornings' to the rest of the staff. As he past between his chair and Minerva's, Minerva felt his hand brush up her arm and over her scarred collarbone sending a rush of tingles through the mended skin.

Ignoring the curious looks of the staff, Minerva leant forward and finished her breakfast.


	24. Dumbledore's Secret

_**Dumbledore's Secret**_

_The scream came. It had been so loud in her ears_. _The walls were getting closer, closing in on her_.

The three owls that rushed passed the window went by unnoticed. The fire crackled merrily to unlistening ears.

_A cold hand touched her shoulder._

Minerva stood by her office window and shivered. She tore her eyes away from their attention to the raindrops that were dripping from the window frame. The light snow that had settled on her sill in the last few hours was disappearing with each drop of water that fell from the gloomy clouds.

How long had she been standing there for? Minerva had come to her office straight after breakfast. She had had it in mind to try and work to distract herself. However, even _The Origins of Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch, the book Dumbledore had bought her when she was in St. Mungo's, could not distract her.

Sally's gaunt face from Minerva's dream was imprinted on Minerva's mind and she could not escape it – the pale skin that had been stretched too tightly over the haunted features; the scared round eyes, lifeless; the transparent hair, dull and wilted.

Slowly, Minerva's head fell into her hands and she felt the moisture from her cheeks smudge and wet her palms. Everything seemed to be out of her control. Blake, Charles, Sally, Voldemort, Dumbledore. For the first time in her life, Minerva just wanted everything to slow down.

Wiping away the last of her tears, she glanced at the clock on the wall. The morning had gone by like it was on a Nimbus 1000. It was as though her own thoughts had been a dream and she had awoken as if no time had gone by.

Minerva dropped heavily into the chair at her desk. Before her were stacks of marked and unmarked parchment, a handful of quills and an inkwell, her wand and _The Origins of Transfiguration_. She lifted up the stiff, green leather front cover of the book with one finger and let it fall open. A message inscribed in black loopy writing on the blank opening leaf read:

_This is rather enjoyable, if only because I could see your eyes roll as I read it. AD_

Minerva lifted the hard green cover again and closed the book. She had briefly wondered why Dumbledore was calling her to his office, but when she discovered that her list of guesses was endless she ceased to speculate. She would find out shortly anyway.

Sally's face appeared in her mind again and she closed her eyes. The more she tried not to think about Sally's situation and last night's disturbing dream, the more the ghostly face of her friend appeared before her. Deciding that she would go to lunch earlier than usual in order to try and distract herself once again, Minerva snatched up her wand off the desk and strode out into the quiet corridors of the castle.

-

Lunch was a strained experience. Poppy Pomphrey had decided to abandon the hospital wing for half an hour and join the rest of the members of the Hogwarts staff in the Great Hall. Minerva liked her very much, but Poppy was not the best person to be around when your appearance is drawn and pale. She was, however, a wonderful distraction from Minerva's river of painful thoughts.

Whilst Poppy was in the middle of a rather amusing story about a seventh year Hufflepuff boy whose Ravenclaw girlfriend had cursed him for kissing another girl by making him amorously kiss every suit of armour that he passed, Minerva felt a prickling sensation crawl up the back of her neck.

"Minerva?" Poppy said after she saw Minerva's smile shrink.

"I'm sorry, Poppy," Minerva replied. "What were you saying?"

"It's unimportant," Poppy said quickly. "Listen, come up to the hospital wing and I can give you a sleeping draught. You've not been sleeping well, am I right?" she added, after seeing the surprised look on Minerva's face.

"I'm fine, Poppy. It'll pass soon enough, I expect." Minerva was going to make sure it did without the use of some silly potion.

"It'll pass sooner with the draught. What're you trying to prove, Minerva? You've been through a lot. No one will think you any weaker for it."

Poppy's words were forceful but quiet as they streamed from her mouth. They were also inaccurate. If Minerva was to deal with her grief and her disturbed nights, she would do it alone and without the help of anything to contaminate her natural emotions. It had nothing to do with feeling weak, she told herself.

She suddenly felt the prickling in her neck grow and strengthen. Dumbledore was back in the castle.

-

The closer Minerva came to Dumbledore's office, the more she could feel the anxiety that had arrived with him, not from her own sentiments but from his. When she arrived at the stone gargoyle she was positively fearful with nerves. Her stomach tensed alarmingly as she spoke the password ('bouncing baubles') and stepped onto the spiral staircase as it coiled upward.

She arrived at the top of the stairs to a closed oak door and the feeling of dread emanating from the other side of it. She swallowed her hesitation and knocked firmly on the hard wood. The door opened slowly and revealed Dumbledore standing in his usual long dark travelling cloak, the hem damp with moisture from the rain and dissolving snow. He was not looking at Minerva but to her right in the direction of his fire. As the oak door opened further, the object that held Dumbledore's attention was revealed to her.

The Minister for Magic stood in front of the glowing fire with a lady Minerva could not recognise. This was because this woman stood with a thin black veil draped over her head which flowed lightly over deep purple robes. Her fingers (the only part of the woman's body that was visible to Minerva) were long and skeletal and bore many rings that looked as though they weighed her hands down.

The veiled head jerked towards the door and Minerva could feel the intense look of the woman's eyes watching her, though she could not see them. It was unnerving and Minerva's discomfort began to increase by the second.

"Come in, Minerva." Dumbledore's voice broke the silence that had descended over the room. It sounded gentle but Minerva could feel the anger in it and, for some reason, guilt. He did not turn to face her.

She straightened her back and walked confidently into the room, very aware of the veiled head following her progress. Dumbledore still did not turn to look her way as she stopped by his side. She saw him open his mouth and take a breath to speak once again, but this time he was interrupted by a harsh rasp coming from underneath the black veil.

"Yes, yes, it is she. The bond that connects them is strong –"

Minerva heard the veiled woman give a sharp intake of breath, then watched her as she began to walk forward, one hand stretching menacingly out in front of her, reaching for Minerva.

"I can feel its might." The woman breathed in deeply, as if she were trying to inhale this 'bond' she was speaking of. She was still walking closer and closer to Minerva. "Such strength, such power." Her next words came in a whisper as she stepped closer to Minerva: "It will consume you."

"That's enough, Kalypto." Dumbledore's words were spoken sharply when the woman's withered fingers were inches away from touching Minerva's face. Minerva had stood unmoving, with her teeth tightly clenched, watching the woman move closer to her. But she had also listened intently to her words, and one part of her message stood out as though it had been screamed: _The bond that connects them is strong_… could someone else possibly know of the magic that lay between Dumbledore and herself?

"What – what's going on?" Minerva spoke the words to Dumbledore, but her eyes remained on the veiled woman Dumbledore had called Kalypto. She made Minerva feel disconcerted – her gravelly voice, her shrouded face, her corpselike fingers.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said, finally turning to face her. Minerva watched Kalypto take a slow step back, then another, falling into the shadows of the office and allowing Dumbledore to step into her place in front of Minerva. At last Minerva looked up and met his eyes. She immediately wished she hadn't. Something had changed in them and it frightened her. He spoke again, his voice quiet but his words pressing.

"There is something I need to tell you." Dumbledore turned to the Minister and Kalypto. "If you will excuse us, please," he said politely, and when he turned back he took a gentle hold of Minerva's elbow and steered her quickly towards the back of his office to the huge window that looked out over the already darkening, rain soaked grounds of Hogwarts.

When she reached the window, Minerva spun quickly around as Dumbledore released his grip, and in a fierce whisper she said, "_What_ on _earth_ is going on, Albus? Who is that woman? What is all this about a _bond_?"

Dumbledore waited calmly and patiently for Minerva to finish, but there was still something in his eyes that told Minerva that 'calm' was the last thing he was feeling. She forced her own frustration down and said in a more controlled whisper, "Just tell me what is going on."

Dumbledore kept his eyes on her but did not smile, and he began.

"When you were younger, only just in your first year at Hogwarts I think, I was approached by a Ministry worker from the Department of Mysteries. He told me that the Unspeakables were working on a project, of which I am afraid I cannot speak, and needed my expertise on a certain matter. I had been working with them for a few years when, one day, a prime factor in one of their experiments was misjudged and the project was ruined.

"It was not until several years later that I realised the mistake had had an effect on me physically. I went to the Unspeakable who had managed the project to tell him of this, only to find that the project had not failed at all; that what I had thought was a mistake, what I was _told_ was a mistake, was actually the _purpose_ of the project."

Dumbledore said all of this very quickly and Minerva stood opposite him, listening intently, her brow creased in concentration and confusion. She could not decipher how this could possibly relate to her.

"So what was the purpose?"

She saw Dumbledore inhale deeply through his long nose as if he wanted to delay exposing anything to Minerva for as long as he could. When he spoke again, his words were slower and more cautious.

"Unfortunately, I know very little. All I am aware of is that the Unspeakables were studying the links, the _bonds_, between witches and wizards. What connects one to some and not to others. The emotions of the soul. I am afraid I still do not know the spell they cast upon me. I have never been able to discover it. But I have searched, Minerva, just as you have, for the reason behind this – this magic between us."

Minerva could not believe what she was hearing. All this time had past, all these years and Dumbledore had, to some extent, known the answer Minerva had been seeking.

"Why me?" she asked, trying to control the anger she could feel bubbling to the surface.

"I don't have an answer for that. The Unspeakable who managed the project told me that they did not know on whom the spell would fall, only that another would be involved.

"It was at Melanie Myrtle's memorial service that I first supposed that you might be the one on whom the spell had fallen," Dumbledore continued. "Do you remember, in your final year? I saw new evidence over the following years, but I could not bring myself to accept it. Neither I nor the Unspeakables knew how powerful the spell would become. It was only in the few months before the Honey Downs battle that I could deny it no longer. And then after the battle…" Dumbledore's words trailed away.

Minerva's mind was automatically thrown into the memories of that night. The pain they had all felt; Sally; Charles.

"_Nocens Unda_," Minerva whispered, subconsciously raising her hand to the scar that remained under her collarbone from the deep gash caused by the powerful curse.

Dumbledore nodded sadly.

"Why are you telling me this now? What has changed?" Minerva eyes flashed from Dumbledore to the Minister for Magic and back again. Something serious must have happened for Dumbledore to suddenly bring all this to light.

"The Department of Mysteries have been in contact with the Minister over the last few years. They have, of course, been studying the spells effects ever since I went to them and told them I had been affected by their supposed 'mistake'. The spell has become unstable – something they had not predicted. The power between us is growing and soon it will be even more out of our control –"

"'_It will consume you_'." Minerva repeated the line spoken to her earlier in a whisper.

"Both of us," Dumbledore told her. "There is only one way that we can prevent it."

Minerva looked up at Dumbledore intently, unsure of any of her feelings at that moment. She felt numb with confusion.

"How?" she asked.

"One of us must sever the link."

Minerva swallowed, and suddenly her numbness vanished in a pang of fear. Dumbledore's expression was alarming. He was frightened.

"Sever the link?" Minerva repeated worriedly. "How?"

It was a few seconds before Dumbledore answered and Minerva knew now that this was the reason for the anxiety she had felt since his return to the castle.

"A few years ago, just after the battle, the Unspeakables informed myself and the Minister that, because the bond is becoming too powerful, the second victim on whom the spell fell would have to physically tear it apart. There is an unplottable location where they have set up the spells and charms needed to perform this Disunion. Neither myself nor the Minister know what this separation involves and the Unspeakables will keep it that way. We cannot prepare for it."

Minerva expelled air sharply through her nostrils.

"You mean you can't prepare _me_ for it," she stated plainly.

Dumbledore looked at her with a furrowed brow. "I am sorry I did not say a word of this to you, Minerva," he said sadly. "I had hoped to find a way to prevent you from severing the bond. I see now that I cannot do that; that we have no choice."

"Why did you want to prevent me?" she asked, curiously. That was one part of this confusing conversation that made even less sense. "If this bond between us will consume us then surely I am the only one who can stop it."

"The separation will be brutal, Minerva. That is one thing I do know for certain." He raised his hand and lifted it to her face. She felt his cold fingers pierce her skin and a river of shivers raced from her neck and down her spine. His next words were spoken so quietly that Minerva had to watch his lips to understand them. "I do not know if you will survive it."

Cold dread suddenly filled Minerva's entire being and it did not belong to her alone. Through the tips of Dumbledore's icy fingers seeped a level of fear she had never known him to feel. She felt it in her skin, her blood, and it flowed into her very soul.


	25. Kalypto's Message

_**Kalypto's Message**_

Minerva stood staring at Dumbledore in silence, then brought her hands to her face and pressed them to her eyes, wiping them hard across her eyelids to her temples where they remained. What had just happened?

She had finally discovered the reason (or at least part of it) behind the strange connection that had so gradually crept upon her and Dumbledore – a reason she had been searching for since before the battle. Now she had learnt that Dumbledore had been aware of this reason for years and had not said a word, _and_ that the Ministry of Magic were involved. She had fallen victim to an experiment, the real reason of which even Dumbledore was unaware of, and now it was down to her to risk her life by severing this connection by means unknown, otherwise both her _and_ Dumbledore will be at risk. Could it be that her life would soon come to an end?

All of these thoughts tumbled through Minerva's mind simultaneously and she could not focus upon a single one. She looked back up at Dumbledore and her hands fell slowly from her face as she released a long breath.

"We will do whatever it takes, Minerva." Dumbledore said in a fervent whisper. He took hold of her hands as he spoke and gripped them tightly. "I _will not lose you_."

Minerva was silent. She was in shock. What choice did they have? Dumbledore said himself that nothing can be done – the bond must be severed, and if she knew one thing it was that it was better for her to risk her life alone than for them both to be devoured by a powerful magic when there was a way one of them could be saved. She did not want to be lost to Dumbledore any more than he wanted to lose her, but if there was no choice… Despite his secrecy about the whole matter Minerva suddenly felt a rush of affection towards Dumbledore that came as abruptly as if she had just missed a step. She was about to speak when she was interrupted by several things in quick succession.

The room had grown darker and a bolt of lightening flashed once outside the window at the same time as the fire in the office roared to life from its dying embers. A shout of surprise came from behind Dumbledore, who turned quickly, revealing the Minister for Magic staring frantically around the room in every direction.

What he was looking at was immediately apparent to Minerva. Several objects in the room had decided, of their own accord, to float several inches above their usual positions – a common occurrence in recent years. Minerva recognised these objects as those which both she and Dumbledore had a connection to. Bert, the peacock feather quill that Dumbledore had given Minerva years before (and which now was the centrepiece on one of the topmost shelves in his office) was hovering quite serenely between the shelf and the ceiling.

Minerva's eyes travelled from the many floating objects to the jumpy Minister and came to a halt on Kalypto. She was standing unmoving, still in the shadows, and was staring silently towards the back of the office at Dumbledore and Minerva. This woman unsettled Minerva more than anything that had just taken place.

One of Dumbledore's hands was still clasped tightly around Minerva's and when he let it go the objects in the office floated down as if sinking slowly in water, and settled in their correct places; the fire died down and the darkening sky became lighter once more as quickly as a cloud reveals the sun in a strong breeze.

"I see we will need to act as soon as possible, Dumbledore," said the Minster, attempting to calm his unsteady voice whilst keeping his eyes on Dumbledore and Minerva's hands as they fell apart.

At the Minister's words, and without glancing at Minerva, Dumbledore took several long, quick steps forwards into the main part of his office. Kalypto remained silent; her cloaked face still staring towards the back windows.

"You will give us time, Minister." Dumbledore's voice was sharp; its harshness surprised Minerva, and apparently the Minister too for he took a step backward towards the fire, away from Dumbledore.

"You have been given time, Dumbledore," the Minister said, regaining some of the strength to his voice. "It has been five years since the Battle of Honey Downs. How much more time can we give you?"

"Minerva cannot be expected to surrender to the Disunion lightly," Dumbledore said, coming to a halt opposite the Minister. His voice was calm but held a threatening anger that the Minister could not miss. "She has a right to defend herself. She did not volunteer for this, as you well know."

"I understand your concern for her well-being, Dumbledore," replied the Minister with an attempt at a sympathy he obviously did not hold. "But," he continued in a lower tone, "we at the Ministry are much more concerned with _yours_. You do understand that if she does not go through with this then in all likelihood – you might – you might both die?"

"I do," Dumbledore said shortly. "But you must remember my previous words, Minister? We _cannot go through with this as originally planned_. We are talking about Minerva's life. It will not be put to a Ministry deadline. I value her life far more than I do my own, regardless of where the Ministry's concerns lie. Either you give us more time or the Disunion will not take place."

"I – Dumbledore! I –" the Minister spluttered.

Dumbledore's threat seemed to hold significant weight, however, because after the Minister controlled his stammering, he said rather breathlessly, "Very well. I will contact you shortly and we will discuss the matter further." Then he puffed up his chest as if filling himself with courage and said very quickly, "The bond is still the most significant part of this experiment, Dumbledore, whatever you may believe. And I will not see it destroy itself over some noble cause of yours."

The Minister stepped forward and snatched the pot of Floo powder from the mantelpiece next to Dumbledore, then took a quick step back. He threw the glittering powder onto the flames and hurriedly stepped into the grate before Dumbledore could say a single word in response.

After the Minister had vanished, the office fell into a tense silence. Kalypto was still standing motionless and silent; Dumbledore was leaning his arm on the mantel from where the Minister had taken the Floo powder, his face hidden from view.

Minerva had listened to all that had been said as silently as Kalypto had stood. She had so many questions for Dumbledore, for the Minister, for the Unspeakables, for everyone involved in this strange experiment. But before she could speak a word, Kalypto, at last, stepped forward.

"He is mistaken," she said, her hoarse voice roughly piercing the tight silence. "The bond will not destroy itself. It can't. It only brought into being what was already there. Something that was always there and should always be - we just gave it a body.

"If you are both consumed by its power then the bond remains; it will always be with you. If you chose Disunion – and you will – then the consequences are beyond anyone's knowledge."

Kalypto's peculiar message spoken into the silence seemed far more important than anything the Minister had had to say. She walked slowly to the fire and her bony, ashen fingers curled around the glittering Floo powder in the pot which the Minister had put on a small trestle table beside the fireplace. Before she threw the powder into the flames she turned her head to her left in the direction of Minerva and Dumbledore.

Minerva waited tensely, but no more harsh words came from under Kalypto's veil. The powder sprinkled onto the fire; green flames burst to life. Kalypto turned her head and stepped into the flames, following the Minister.


	26. Musings and Speculations

_**Musings and Speculations**_

The darkness of the winter afternoon was beginning to spread its dismal cloak over the grounds of Hogwarts. Lunchtime had past barely an hour since, yet still the daylight was waning and the biting cold was beginning to break through the castle windows. It would be a frosty night.

Minerva had left Dumbledore's office straight after Kalypto had Flooed to the Ministry. The moment Dumbledore had turned to Minerva from the fireplace her every instinct had told her to go. There were too many thoughts buzzing like angry bees inside her head. She needed to think, to somehow achieve some kind of order in her mind so that she could talk about this rationally and coherently with Dumbledore. This meant that whatever she might be feeling, her shock, her fear, her anger, her pain, all needed to be pushed away in order for her to make any kind of sense of the situation.

The Hogwarts grounds were freezing as Minerva stepped through the entrance doors and slowly made her way down the main steps. The earth was damp with the recently fallen rain that had melted away the snow, and her toes soon became numb with cold. The bitter wind sliced at the unprotected skin on her face and hands and made her eyes stream; her cheeks coloured pink and ached with the cold.

She turned left and walked around the edge of the castle, sitting on the first seat she came to, a stone bench set into the walls of the castle. The limestone arch that gave it shelter was draped with the sodden, leafless remains of one of the Herbology Professor's bizarre creepers. In the spring this vine was covered in thousands of tiny silver berries, usually picked in the summer for sleeping draughts.

The stone seat made Minerva feel even colder, but she welcomed the chill, even as she pulled her cloak closer around her body. She saw the darkness of the day increase as she sat for long minutes, frozen, leaning her head against the castle wall. The dismal clouds made the grass look dull and grey and cast shadows over the already dim Greenhouses before her.

The numbness that had come over her in Dumbledore's office had not yet left; on the contrary it was what was keeping her still for long moments at a time, dispersed by short spurts of anger or fear or terrible distress. How was it possible for someone to cope with something like this? Or even to register that it was happening at all, that it was real? In some moments she would be comforted by the thought that it would all end happily – Dumbledore would find a way to alter whatever it was that was creeping upon them, as he had said he would. Then a recollection would claw through that comfortable feeling and replace it with a dread such as she had never felt – Dumbledore had also said that there was no other way. His contradictory terms were something Minerva would have to worry about later.

Her life had been in danger before, she knew that. And she had willingly risked it. But it had always been at the hand of a cause she had thought worth fighting for, worth dying for. There had also been a good chance that she would survive – the sheer will to live was strong enough in Minerva to practically ensure her survival in battles, and the power of her magic had always been a comfort.

But now she did not know the cause she might be dying for, or her chances of surviving this Disunion that people kept mentioning. And she had certainly not offered herself freely. The rest of her life's choices had been taken away from her. She felt trapped, as though she was being forced down a path with no way of leaving it or turning back. As if there were walls at her sides and behind her, forcing her forwards so that she could do nothing but move into the darkness ahead.

This thought reminded her of her dream and of Sally, then consequently of Charles and Blake. Perhaps death was not so terrible. What if this life was a struggle compared with the glorious release of death? What if death was the next stage of living? Wherever Charles and Blake were now, Minerva had to believe that they were somewhere and that, wherever that somewhere was, it was free of troubles and torment. Perhaps that would be where she would end up.

Minerva had leant forward and had her head in her hands with her elbows digging into her knees when she heard the rustling of robes close by. She did not need to look up; she had felt him coming long before she heard him. Dumbledore's robes brushed against her as he sat on the cold stone seat next to her. Minerva sat up straight, her hands sweeping down against her face as she did so. She leant her head back once more against the castle wall, which had resumed it's coldness in her body's absence.

"Why did the Unspeakables choose you in the first place?" Minerva asked quietly after a while, staring at the shadowy greenhouses ahead, trying to push down the thought that Dumbledore had known about the Ministry's work for years and not said a single word to her.

"A less powerful wizard would not give them clear enough evidence for their experiment," he answered with equal softness, leaning forwards, resting his forearms on his thighs and putting his fingertips together over his knees. "The more power the wizard controls, the more magic they would be able to witness. More evidence of the bond."

"Did they not worry about your safety?" Minerva asked tilting her head down ever so slightly to look at Dumbledore. "They seem to be extremely worried about it now," she added, with a bitterness that escaped her lips before she could prevent it.

"They thought the experiment would be harmless. It is only in the last few years that they have realised the danger they have put us in," he replied calmly.

"Why did you not tell me?" Minerva whispered sadly, desperately. At her words Dumbledore sat up slowly and leant his back against the freezing stone. His nose and cheeks were pink and his eyes shone brightly with moisture from the cold.

"I always hoped that I was wrong, that it wasn't you on whom the spell had fallen," he said, turning to her as he spoke. "After the battle, when I finally accepted what I already knew, I met with the Minister and informed him that I had discovered the person on whom the other half of the spell had fallen. He knew that I had known for years and accused me of thinking the bond between us was trivial. I admitted to him that I believe the bond is not as important as he thinks. The lives involved are far more valuable than the work of the Unspeakables. He believes that if we continue as we are then the Department of Mystery's experiment will have been in vain."

Minerva listened carefully to Dumbledore's words and responded cautiously.

"But, Albus, if our lives are more important than the experiment as you say, then surely that gives the bond equal importance, for it will ultimately dictate what is to happen next."

"That is a consideration I have deliberated over for many years, Minerva. But I cannot give something such significance when I know so little about it and, more particularly, when it makes other people's lives less worthy."

Dumbledore fell silent and Minerva did not know how to respond. Nothing was more important to Dumbledore than the lives of those he loved. She loosened her icy cold fingers from around her arms and slid her hand in between his.

"I wanted to tell you, Minerva," Dumbledore continued in a whisper. "But it would mean that I would be giving weight to a power I thought I could overcome. I should not have been so foolish."

His words were heartbreaking to hear. It was as though he had given up. That he never really believed the words he spoke when he said he would find another way. Minerva knew she had caught him in a moment of weakness and grief and she could not help but be affected by it. A lone tear escaped onto her pink cheek and she sniffed, feeling cold air rush into her nose.

"What about Kalypto?" she asked, trying to give strength to her voice. "Is she an Unspeakable?"

"No," Dumbledore replied, surprising Minerva with his answer. "She has the rather peculiar gift of being able to _see_ the bond, even when it is not obvious to you or me. The Ministry discovered her soon after the battle. I do not know how."

"What did she mean when she said that the bond was already there and they just gave it a body?"

Dumbledore breathed out heavily through his long pink nose. He had obviously been reflecting upon Kalypto's words as well.

"I don't know," he replied, and Minerva could hear his frustration. "She also said it _should_ always be there. I have always assumed that what the Unspeakables were looking for in their experiment was the way in which one human connects to another, but I also assumed that they _created _our bond in order to see the way it works. But what if the bond is natural, Minerva? And not created? What if it was there all the time and they simply brought it to life, to _body_, in some way, not knowing the power they would give it?"

"Which means that if we sever the link then our natural bond will be broken?" Minerva said tentatively.

Dumbledore nodded, frowning.

"'_If you are both consumed by its power then the bond remains_'." Dumbledore repeated Kalypto's earlier words. "But if we follow the Unspeakable's orders, the bond will be destroyed and even they do not know what the consequences will be."

"But what else can we do, Albus?" Minerva asked urgently. "If we do nothing then the power will be too strong to overcome. We both might die –"

"But our natural connection will be preserved, Minerva." Dumbledore replied with equal concern.

"The Minister will never allow it," Minerva said gently. "He wants you alive. The whole wizarding world needs you alive, Albus."

Dumbledore turned to Minerva, his light blue eyes intense and striking. "Do you want to carry out the Disunion?" he asked.

"No, of course I don't," she replied. "But I can't stand by and wait for death to come to you when the other alternative is for me to die but you to survive, even if the bond between us is broken." Minerva felt another tear slip from her eye. A second followed it; she tried to ignore them.

"I can't let you do that, Minerva," Dumbledore said forcefully. "I can't watch you walk to your own death." Dumbledore's tone became so vigorous that he stood up as he spoke.

"I might die whatever happens, Albus," Minerva replied, trying to keep the situation calm. "This way we can ensure that at least one of us survives."

Minerva's insides were tearing themselves apart as she spoke. Did she really believe what she was saying? It seemed plausible in that moment. Dumbledore did not reply. He walked a few slow steps away from the stone bench and paused before the edge of the dull grass. Minerva could see his breath come out from him in clouds of mist. He was silent, staring across the grounds. She saw him bring his left hand up to his face whilst his right hand gripped his elbow to support his arm.

"I'm sorry," Minerva heard him whisper after a while. She stood up and walked over to him. When she reached his side, his hand fell from his face and he wrapped his arm tightly around her. She treasured his touch and stepped closer, wrapping both her arms around his waist and leaning into his tall frame.

"I think I chose you," he said quietly.

Minerva knew what Dumbledore meant. The Unspeakable's spell probably fell upon Minerva because Dumbledore had felt so strongly about her. When she was a child there had always been a strong attachment between them, even though it was not love then, but a deep fondness. The thought that Dumbledore had unintentionally chosen her as the receiver of the bond had crossed Minerva's mind ever so briefly, but it could not be dwelt upon.

"Don't," she whispered. "It doesn't bear thinking about."

"I tried to fight it," he said with the same quiet sadness. "Perhaps it wouldn't have made a difference. You can't change so strong a feeling…"

Dumbledore trailed off for the second time that afternoon. Minerva looked up into his face and saw the creases on his forehead grow deeper. Then, suddenly, his eyes blazed with promise, his brow smoothed; he looked down at Minerva and a sudden jolt of his hope swelled inside her like a surge of pleasure. And then another feeling slithered to the surface that she could not quite put her finger on.

"Quickly," Dumbledore said with urgency and grabbed Minerva's hand as he turned on his heel and headed back to the castle.


	27. Fortuna Cottage

_**Fortuna Cottage**_

Dumbledore was walking quickly, his hand still gripping Minerva's firmly. She walked fast, keeping up with his every step. Where did this sudden hopeful desperation come from? What thought had rushed into his mind? Minerva was aching to find out, but she knew better than to ask at such a rushed and distracted moment.

As they turned to walk down one of the long corridors that lead to Dumbledore's office, a group of fourth year Ravenclaws who had remained behind for the holiday came into view, and Dumbledore released his grasp on Minerva's hand. As their contact broke, Minerva felt the hope that had swelled inside her deflate like a punctured balloon, and her own less welcome emotions reintroduced themselves. Confusion and fear, followed by hurt and grief. She wondered whether Dumbledore had felt those feelings in her.

Dumbledore spoke the password to his office sentry when he and Minerva were still several paces away from the entrance. The stone gargoyle obediently sprang aside and Dumbledore stood to the right, gently pushing Minerva ahead of him through the entryway. He stepped onto the moving spiral staircase after her and as they reached the top, the large oak door leading into his office opened of its own accord and granted them entrance.

Minerva turned as she entered but Dumbledore strode straight past her towards the fireplace, the flames still flickering innocently. She followed him with her eyes and saw him snatch up the Floo powder pot from the mantel.

"Where are we going?" she asked surprised.

"Not 'we'. Wait here for me, Minerva," Dumbledore replied hurriedly, taking a handful of the powder and throwing it into the flames. She walked over to the fireplace, her curiosity growing with every breath.

Dumbledore turned to her from the fire. His face was lit with the green light from the flames as the fire was made ready to Floo. Minerva noticed a glimmer of a smile flicker over his face, though she did not see it in his eyes.

Suddenly, the rushed manner he had so rapidly adopted diminished for no reason as far as Minerva could see. Dumbledore took a step closer to her, then another, until he stood opposite her. He pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering there for a few breaths. Then Minerva felt his cold fingers graze the skin of her neck as he lowered his head and kissed her lips.

Once again a rush of hope ballooned up inside her as she felt the pressure from Dumbledore's fingers increase subtly on her neck, and his soft lips pressed a little firmer against hers. Minerva's eyes closed at his touch, but then the earlier feeling from him that she could not identify slipped once more through the bubble of hope.

Minerva gently pulled away from Dumbledore and looked up at him, confused. The Floo powder in the flames had been left too long and had burned out, and now an orange light flickered over his face. He turned away and picked up the Floo powder pot once again.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Minerva asked quietly. "I can feel it from you, Albus."

"It is not important," he replied, taking another handful of the powder and throwing it into the fire. "I must hurry, Minerva."

He stepped into the fireplace and turned to face the office. He was surrounded by flames, the green tongues licking and slashing and coiling round him.

"Fortuna Cottage," he said quickly.

Minerva watched with a frown as Dumbledore disappeared from the fireplace. With a fast and definite decision, Minerva reached for the pot on the mantel and sunk her fingers into the shimmering powder, then she followed Dumbledore to the mysterious destination.

-

As Minerva spun to a halt she blinked into the darkness beyond her. It was the smell that reached her first – one of damp wood and smoky air. Then, after the ringing in her ears from Flooing faded, she began to hear the noise of damp logs popping and crackling as they burned and blistered in a fire. The fireplace she had landed in, however, was not lit and felt like it never had been.

Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness and she could see Dumbledore's outline ahead of her. The little light that was present reflected in his wide eyes as he looked at her.

Minerva stepped out of the fire and moved next to him. Fortuna Cottage made her feel a familiar sense of unease and she shivered, though the place was quite warm.

"Where are we, Albus?" Minerva asked ignoring his surprise at her presence. Her words came out in a whisper and still they sounded too loud.

"You shouldn't have come here, Minerva," Dumbledore replied, also in a whisper. "I asked you to wait –"

"No, you _told_ me to wait," she replied, suddenly irritated.

"I did not want…" He paused and sighed sharply before continuing. "Fortuna Cottage is the home of Kalypto," he said, and offered Minerva no other information.

She saw the light from his eyes vanish as he looked away from her. "This way," he whispered.

Minerva followed him, her footsteps silent as she walked over a soft, spongy surface. A few paces ahead she noticed a dull light coming from a narrow, open doorway to their left, which Dumbledore's figure had concealed from her view when she had arrived. It cast a dim light across the floor and Minerva noticed that they were walking on what appeared to be earth, as though the cottage walls were erected on soil and no foundations had been laid. When they reached the doorway Minerva felt Dumbledore's hand on her back, guiding her through.

The source of the muted light was immediately apparent; a dark glow was emanating from a fire in the centre of a circular room, where the damp, popping logs lay at its heart. What was strange about this particular fire, however, was that the flames, instead of being the oranges and yellows of normal fires, were black with a pale white gleam around the edges.

It was this white gleam that allowed the single room they had just entered to be visible, though only barely. It was unlike any room Minerva had ever been in. It was as though she was outside but for the roof over their heads. Enormous trees grew all around her. Still with their bark attached and their roots embedded deep into the earthy floor, most of them made up the wall that surrounded Dumbledore and Minerva. The spaces between the trunks were walled with the trees' branches, leaves still connected, as if the trees had forced their branches to grow sideways and tangle into each other until they became a solid block.

One large trunk grew out of the ground close by and Minerva saw no use for this. It seemed to have inconveniently grown inside the room. She noticed several others after that, standing around the room like huge pillars. Her eyes followed one upwards and she saw that it grew out of the roof and the rest was obscured from her view.

Her eyes fell back to the circular room. As she glanced around, Minerva noticed that several of the tree roots had resurfaced through the soil in the middle of the room. The thicker roots, with the obvious help of magic, were made up to become chairs and a table, stands and railings. The firelight flashed briefly over one of the root-chairs and Minerva saw that strange symbols were carved into every inch of the wood. The light vanished and the chair was cast into shadow once more.

Everything about the room was dark. Minerva could see no windows, there were no candles or lamps alight, nothing that would make visibility any easier. It also appeared to be the only room in the cottage – the hall they had just come through seemed to be the entryway.

Dumbledore stepped forward past Minerva and walked up to the black flames. Minerva shivered again, but stepped forward join him. His voice came so loudly and suddenly that Minerva actually jumped by his side.

"KALYPTO," he called deeply and terribly. The silence after this single word rang through the cottage. Then something seemed to stir in the air. The flames in the fire died down quickly plunging the room into further darkness. The dull white glow was swimming low over the logs.

Then a spark was suddenly spat across the room from the fire. Another crack and a second spark flew out in another direction. More sparks came, faster and louder until suddenly the fire roared to life once more, but not only upwards. Minerva watched as the flames coiled and spiralled, making a whirling cocoon large enough for Minerva's whole body to fit inside.

Then the flames began to form a shape. They started to pinch in at certain places like a magnet fusing to an object. The fire became more and more solid until the distinct outline of a person was visible.

The black flames vanished into the pale skin beneath them and Kalypto stood naked in the centre of the fire. Her eyes were closed and her wavy, thick hair, as long and black as Minerva's, fell over her shoulders, covering her breasts and reaching her hips. The remaining black flames were now dancing around her feet and ankles.

Minerva looked at the woman's thin face for the first time. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent. Her features looked young, almost childlike. Minerva's eyes grazed over the small pointed nose, over the bony cheeks and over the lips that were grey and ashen. As Minerva's eyes travelled up her face, Kalypto's eyes snapped open and Minerva's stomach jolted. There was no colour under the heavy lids. They were as translucent as her skin; a sea of white like a vast empty desert.

Kalypto's eyes, as far as Minerva could tell, were on Dumbledore. He looked at her with polite acknowledgement before turning to one of the smaller tree roots that was protruding through the soil floor and arching high and narrowly. Hooked over this root was a long black cloak which Dumbledore disengaged and, turning back to the fire, held out to Kalypto.

Minerva watched silently and the skeletal woman stepped from the fire and allowed herself to be robed by Dumbledore. Her body now covered, Kalypto walked a little way across the room in her bare feet and picked up a thinner, lighter piece of black material. She draped this over her head, and once again her entire body apart from her hands was hidden from view.

Minerva watched all this in silence, unsure of why Dumbledore came here and why he did not want her to follow. He had obviously been here before and Minerva began to think it was a bad idea to have followed him. She felt out of place, and uncomfortable in Kalypto's presence, though she was unsure why.

Facing away from Dumbledore and Minerva, Kalypto spoke into the silence, her harsh, scratchy voice disturbing the quiet air.

"It is not good that you have come here."

"I need to ask you a question, Kalypto," Dumbledore said calmly, concealing the urgency in his voice.

"I know your question," she responded quickly.

"Then you can –" Dumbledore was interrupted.

"No," Kalypto said sharply, spinning round to face them.

Minerva felt as though she was a child again, standing by whilst the grown ups spoke of something she did not understand. It was as though they had a secret that they could not speak of in her presence and she felt a pang of irritation. Her ignorance of Dumbledore's reason for coming to Fortuna Cottage was discomforting as she stood by his side. Kalypto continued.

"The Ministry of Magic have their plans. You must not intervene."

Minerva's brow contracted as she listened carefully. How was Dumbledore going to intervene? She turned to face him and was surprised to see a smile forming on his lips.

"But then, it is possible for me to do it?" he said. It was more of a statement than a question. Kalypto was silent. "Thank you, Kalypto. You have answered my question."

Dumbledore moved to leave but Kalypto's severe voice from under the veil held him back.

"I can see the cords that bind you together. But you cannot know everything about the other. She does not know your plans."

Dumbledore looked sharply at Kalypto and Minerva's irritation grew. It was true, Dumbledore had not told her why he was here, and yet Kalypto knew without even asking.

"I merely wanted to know if it were possible first, Kalypto," Dumbledore replied evenly.

"If what were possible, Albus?" Minerva spoke quietly, aggravated at having to admit she knew nothing of these plans in front of Kalypto, but too curious now to refrain from asking.

Dumbledore turned to face her, and Minerva was sure that Kalypto was smiling under her black veil.

"Perhaps you should both sit down," Kalypto suggested.

"I'd rather not," Minerva replied coldly, her eyes still on Dumbledore. "Just tell me what this is all about."

"I will explain later, Minerva," he said warningly, irritating Minerva even more.

"_Albus_," she replied in the same threatening tone.

Dumbledore sighed and gave Kalypto a fleeting glance.

"Very well," Dumbledore said stiffly. "Something the Minister said before he left my office made me think. He said that the bond is still the most important part of this experiment. I have never put very much value to the connection because I thought that it was created by the Ministry. When I spoke with you in the grounds and we realised that it is a natural bond that has been given body, that it has always existed, and _not_ been created, I came to realise that, if this is true, then its importance is far greater than I thought.

"I was told that the second victim on who the spell had fallen would be the one who would have to carry out the Disunion and I am afraid I took their word for it. Another foolish mistake," he said sadly. "I realise now that the Unspeakables simply told me that because they knew that, if I had the choice, I would go in your place."

Dumbledore turned his face to Kalypto who nodded in confirmation but remained silent. He looked again to Minerva.

"This means, Minerva," he continued, "that it shouldn't matter which of us carries out the Disunion because the connection flows both ways."

"What? Albus, no." Minerva said, alarmed. Now she understood what he was planning to do.

"I told you I would do whatever it takes," Dumbledore persisted. "It is exactly as you said; if there is a way that one of us can survive we should take it, even if it means breaking the bond."

"_No_," Minerva said sharply, her anger had swelled inside her with his every word. "What right do you have to prevent me from carrying out the Disunion but then sacrifice yourself to it and expect me to accept it?"

"Every right, Minerva," Dumbledore said calmly. "You would not be in this situation if I –"

"Stop being noble, Albus," she interrupted, her voice threateningly low. "Think about all the people who need you _here_. We are on the brink of war and you're –"

"I will not let you die, Minerva," he said sharply.

"You do not know that that will happen," she replied, forcing her voice to soften even though her anger was building.

"No," Dumbledore agreed, "but I am not going to risk finding out. I hold more power than you, Minerva; I have more of a chance of surviving this."

Minerva knew his words were not conceited, only truthful, but her anger bubbled to the surface once again.

"For heaven's sake, Albus," she said. "Can't you see that it does not matter? Even if you do survive you would not be fit to fight. You said yourself that the Disunion would be violent. _Brutal_, you said.People need you alive and at your full strength."

"I have not made this decision lightly, Minerva," he said, his eyes flashing with anger now. Minerva stayed facing him, standing her ground firmly, though the temptation to step back was strong. "If there is a way you can survive, I will take it."

"I will not listen to this nonsense any longer, Albus," Minerva said furiously. She turned to Kalypto, her voice still full of anger. "I am sorry to have disturbed you for nothing. We are leaving now."

Minerva spun on her heel which sunk slightly into the soil, and marched towards the narrow door through which she had entered. She found the Floo powder pot quickly as she reached the hearth and flung the powder into the fireplace.

"_Hogwarts_," she said, much louder than was necessary.


	28. The Beginning of the End

_**The Beginning of the End**_

Darkness was closing in on Minerva as she sat in her seat in the empty Great Hall. Dinner had been and gone and Dumbledore had not yet returned to Hogwarts. Minerva was still fuming. She had arrived back at the castle with anger building so quickly inside her that her hands shook as she paced in front of Dumbledore's fireplace waiting for him to return from Fortuna Cottage.

She had remained in his office for hours, her agitated hands eventually quietening, but the rage inside her rolling onwards through her veins. She had to force herself to go to the Great Hall when the time for dinner had approached. No one had said a word to her, or even come within a broomstick's length of her if they could avoid it. She ate noting that was on her plate and sat in silent fury willing herself not to shout out from the frustration that she felt pushing against her chest and throat.

And now she sat, hours later, alone and in silence, unable to move. Her teeth were clenched tightly and her fists were balled, her right hand firmly strangling her wand. She stared at the Great Hall doors, waiting.

It was getting late. The students who were in the castle for the holidays had withdrawn to their common rooms long ago. The teachers, Minerva knew, were on their way to bed.

After what seemed like hours of sitting as still as stone, Minerva looked up from the Great Hall doors and towards the enchanted ceiling above. The sky was cloudy, concealing the moon, but she could see patches of starlight shining through where the clouds had broken. The air was still.

A tingle prickled the back of Minerva's neck and her eyes shot back to the door. Dumbledore was back. He was moments away. How could he have stayed away for so long when he knew how furious she was, how frustrated, how distraught? The anger that had not diminished flared powerfully inside her as these festering thoughts swam back to the surface furiously.

The handle on the huge oak door moved. A sliver of light cracked the darkness surrounding her as it spilled into the hall. The door opened wide and Dumbledore stood facing her, framed by the candlelight from the entrance hall.

The space between them stretched beyond endurance. Minerva could feel his frustration and it caused her own to double. She could not stand it; she was feeling the frustration of two people forced beneath her skin where there was no room. There was physical pain. Her ribs felt as though they would crack from the pressure. Was this what Kalypto meant when she said that the bond would consume them? Two people's emotions inside a body that was too small to contain them?

"I have made my decision, Minerva."

Dumbledore's voice was low and forceful and had a finality that told Minerva exactly which decision it was that he had made. She could not say a word. She felt she would scream if she opened her mouth. Pressing her lips firmly together, Minerva stood up and turned so fast that her robes flew out around her. She strode round the staff table and marched towards Dumbledore, her agitation mounting with every step.

Her hand whipped out as she reached him and she stood so close, the tip of her wand pointing upwards towards his face.

"Then you have made the wrong decision." Her voice sounded deadly, even to her own ears, but Dumbledore's expression remained composed. "You need to remain here with people who feel stronger by simply having you by their side, Albus. Charles and Blake would have died for nothing if we lose this war. You need to stay alive."

"Minerva," he said as calmly as he could, "I have spoken with Kalypto –"

"Don't!"

"Listen to me!" There was impatience in his voice now, but Minerva did not want to hear. Even the name of the veiled witch sparked fury in her.

"I don't want to hear what that woman has to say!" Her voice was rising and her anger was seeping through. Her wand was still pointed at Dumbledore. "Whatever our choice is, it does not concern her."

"Minerva, you must do as I ask!"

Minerva's eyes flashed at the order and met Dumbledore's, seeing equal fury in them, though it barely concealed his desperation. There was a moments silence before Minerva replied, her voice came out restrained and dangerously low, and it shook with unmistakable anger.

"Only when you see reason, Dumbledore."

She had to walk away. However it may have looked to an outsider, Minerva had no intention of attempting to cast any spells, but the longer she stood there with her wand poised, the more she was tempted to curse him. Wrenching her wand away from his face, she shot him a final furious look and marched round him, striding through the Great Hall doors and into the entrance hall.

Instead of going deeper into the castle however, she turned towards the grounds, feeling the need to escape the confines of the castle walls. She stormed out the front doors and the crisp night air stabbed welcomingly into her hot face. She hoped he would not follow her, not when she felt so out of control, but she knew he would.

She was halfway across the frozen lawn when she heard her name resound around the grounds in Dumbledore's deep voice.

"Professor McGonagall!"

The words hit her as though she had been plunged into ice cold water. _Professor McGonagall_. She froze where she stood and her hand tightened around her wand. She knew he was approaching with an anger that rivalled her own, but could not hear his steps on the frosty ground because her heart was hammering loud in her ears. She spun around and glared at him, daring him to come closer.

He stopped several feet away and she could see his breath emerge as mist into the night air; he was breathing fast. Minerva did not speak.

"My decision is logical and right, Minerva," he said impatiently. "I –"

"You are being completely unreasonable," Minerva interrupted loudly, the anger raging inside her.

"How can you say that when every detail suggests that the Disunion should be carried out by me? We might both survive –"

"I will not go along with this, Albus," Minerva said. She felt her palm sweating where she gripped her wand and shoved it forcefully back into her pocket. How could they settle this if each thought the other was blind to the obvious? How could he possibly believe that it was better for him to go in her place?

"You will do as I order you to, Professor."

Dumbledore's anger was increasing and Minerva could feel it pulsing through her veins in rhythm with her own fury. His voice had grown louder as it raged towards her, and the term 'professor' echoed loudly in her ears.

"How dare you," she growled furiously, her low voice stabbing the night air forcefully.

"With ease, Minerva, when I know it is the right thing to do."

The stabbing pain in Minerva's chest, which had been present since Dumbledore's return to the castle, rebounded hard off the bars of her ribs. His emotions, and her own, would not be imprisoned for much longer.

"Find another way, Dumbledore."

Minerva could not tear her eyes away from his face. She was vaguely aware of the grounds becoming lighter, as if dawn had come early, but her eyes were firmly fixed on Dumbledore and she saw nothing but him.

"There _is_ no other way." His voice had risen again. Then something happened that made the once calm and still air change between them. Minerva saw a flash of something in his eyes that she had never seen before, as though they were reflecting a raging storm before them, and she felt her own eyes mirror them.

"Don't _say _that!" she cried in frustration. "There is _always_ another way!"

It was a strange feeling. Minerva felt as though she was suddenly out of her body. Something had overtaken her being. Nothing mattered in that moment but to make Dumbledore understand that there was not only one option; and the only way to make him see reason was through her fury. Her focus was on nothing but Dumbledore's eyes. That was why the swirling golden ring around him spun unseen by Minerva, and why the fast twirling of her own robes around her remained unnoticed.

"Why can't you understand that that simply is not the case here?" Dumbledore thundered.

"Because there _is_ another way."

Minerva vaguely noticed a strange crack in the air. She dimly perceived a dull red light and a whining buzz intensify around her. But her focus remained firmly fixed on the man before her. She heard Dumbledore's words shoot back at her through the space between them and felt as though her eyes were locked onto his with no means of escape.

"I will not go through this with you again, Minerva."

"You don't have choice," Minerva retorted. "I will not accept your - totally _irrational_ decision." She was livid. Her chest seemed to be swelling with anger, and that anger and Dumbledore was all she could focus on. She felt as though it was about to burst from her, that there was a storm brewing beneath her skin and it was becoming too powerful to hold in. Minerva was blind to everything now apart from Dumbledore's blazing eyes.

"You _have_ to accept it," he bellowed.

"I won't!"

"You _will_!"

It happened so quickly that Minerva was utterly taken by surprise. She felt an extraordinary release of power emanate from her entire body like a silent scream of ferocious fury. All of a sudden she became aware of her surroundings; two blazing globes of red light, one hurtling though the air towards Dumbledore and the other zooming towards her from him. The unnatural hum was becoming louder and louder in the air around them.

Her eyes broke their contact with Dumbledore's and she saw the strange sphere-like lights crash into each other at such speed. Barely had she time to see them merge together than an almighty wave rebounded off them and slammed hard into her chest. She felt her feet leave the ground. The force had thrown her backwards and into the air, but also it seemed to be holding her upright, as if invisible cords were pulling her upwards. She couldn't breath. It felt as though something was wrapped around her upper body, squeezing her, getting tighter and tighter.

She was flying backwards at such speed it felt as though she could go on for miles. Her robes and her arms had flown out before her, lagging behind the rest of her body. Then suddenly she felt herself lose momentum. She was falling fast. The ground was coming closer and closer and Minerva was dozens of feet in the air, plummeting towards it.

Then, quite as suddenly as she had risen from the ground, she began to slow. She was mere feet away and something had broken her fall. Her feet hit the ground hard, but she stayed upright, gasping for air. She couldn't stand straight. Bending over she clenched her hands on her shaking knees and took in great wheezing breaths. What had just happened?

She stayed in that position for a while feeling drained. Only after she could control her gasps did she notice that the light surrounding her had changed. The darkness around them had gone and been replaced with a light so bright she could have believed they were standing in daylight but for its strange bluish colour.

Still out of breath and with her hands still on her knees, Minerva looked across the grounds at the man with whom she had been arguing and she suddenly realised that her anger had completely vanished. Instead she felt fear such as she had never felt before, and an overwhelming concerned for Dumbledore. She did not want him to go. To die. That was why she had been so angry, it was obvious to her now. It was her fear for him that had sparked her rage. But still she thought he was wrong.

Minerva saw Dumbledore attempting to catch his breath also, his body bent double as hers was. He stilled suddenly, as though sensing her eyes on him, and looked back at her. A tiny orb floated between them casting the light that was coating the grounds brightly, and all of a sudden something quivered into life in Minerva's memory. _Productum Intumesco_ – the magic of Absolute Rage, the _Swell of Anger_. But it couldn't be. No one had ever… it was impossible. But the bond…

Minerva did not understand, but if it was what she believed, the magic had not yet finished. With huge effort, she stood up straight and began to walk slowly towards Dumbledore. He mirrored her actions a few seconds later, looking as weak as Minerva felt. Her legs were shuddering beneath her as they carried her weight and her breathing had still not returned to normal.

She reached the orb, the _pondera_, before Dumbledore did and watched him step shakily up to her. He caught her eye as he took his final step, the bright orb now the only thing that separated them.

With great effort, Minerva lifted her hand as Dumbledore did the same, pausing when it was level with the orb. She knew that the _pondera_ would give back to them the energy they had lost, but she hoped her anger would not return with it.

"Are you ready?" Dumbledore whispered, his lips barely moving with the effort it took to speak.

"Yes," replied Minerva, barely audibly. She hoped it would happen quickly as her legs felt like they were about to give way under her.

Not taking her eyes off Dumbledore, she took a deep breath and, with all the energy she had remaining, pushed her hand forwards and felt it collide with Dumbledore's as he pushed back against her. The _pondera_ exploded between them and the energy within it shuddered and vibrated violently. Minerva almost lost eye contact with Dumbledore because the light it emitted was so bright that it pierced her eyes painfully. She saw Dumbledore squint slightly but neither of them faltered as they concentrated on keeping their hands together.

In the blink of an eye the light seemed to vanish, as did the violently shaking _pondera_. Then Minerva felt something stir between her palm and Dumbledore's. It felt as though thick, hot liquid was being injected into her veins through her hand. The heat spread through her entire body, quickening its pace as it went. She felt her legs stop trembling as the heat rolled through them. She felt colour come to her face. She felt stronger. Then the magic seemed to stop. It was just her and Dumbledore, standing in the grounds, their hands still flat together, steepled as if in prayer.

The grounds darkened considerably when the light from the _pondera_ was lost. They kept their hands together, neither feeling that terrible level of anger in the other, but both now noticing the feelings that had lain beneath it.

"You're afraid you won't come back, Albus," Minerva whispered, looking up into his eyes. The sky had cleared and the starlight was reflecting in them. She knew now what the feeling was that she could not identify in him earlier that afternoon. He knew there was a possibility that he would not survive the Disunion, even though he did all he could to persuade himself otherwise.

"Not nearly as afraid as I am at the thought that you might not return," he said, causing an unwelcome lump in Minerva's throat.

"We will never agree on this; you know that don't you?" she said. She was finally resolved to the fact that she could not persuade Dumbledore to let her carry out the Disunion, just as he would not be able to persuade her.

"I know," he said simply, sadly.

Minerva felt his fingers move and curl around hers. Their hands had been full of heat only seconds ago and now they were cool from the crisp, frosty air.

"How are we going to resolve this?" she asked quietly, bringing their hands down to their sides then releasing hers from his grasp.

"_Chocolate!_"

Minerva and Dumbledore started as Poppy Pomphrey came storming into view at an alarming pace. They both turned to her, surprised, neither having realised that they were being observed. However, with the unusual physical brightness of their argument and the thunderous noise, it was hardly surprising that it had not gone unobserved.

"_What_ have you two been doing?" Poppy Pomphrey cried, still a few metres from them. "Are you feeling all right? That was _productum intumesco_, you realise. You have to speak to the Minister, Dumbledore. To the author of the book – Horendus, was it? To _someone_!"

"I don't think that is quite necessary just yet, Poppy," Dumbledore replied politely, though still a little shaken, and taking some chocolate from the matron without argument.

"But – but what happened? How do you feel? You had better come up and rest in the hospital wing for the night. I want no arguments! I must keep an eye on you. Who knows what side effects might occur and – oh my heavens," Poppy said, suddenly stunned, pointing at them with one of her bars of chocolate. She was looking from one to the other and began to step away from them, her eyes full of fear.


	29. The Departure

_**The Departure**_

Poppy withdrew further. Minerva vaguely noticed her step back but it barely registered. She was looking at Poppy without really seeing her. Something else was happening.

As Poppy had been speaking Minerva had felt her chest fill again with that same overwhelming pressure. She could feel it pushing against her ribs like a deadly creature straining against the bars of its cage in attempts to escape. She had tried to ignore it at first but it was becoming too intense. Then her vision had started to grow dark around the edges as though a thick, black fog was closing in, obscuring more and more of the landscape around her.

That was when Poppy had begun to step away, but Minerva was distracted. She blinked once, twice, three times, but each time the darkness grew, shrouding more of her sight.

She could feel Dumbledore still beside her and turned her head. Then she saw the reason for Poppy's retreat with her own eyes. Dumbledore's eyes were almost completely black, as though the iris and pupil were being submerged under a surrounding film that was growing over them. There was a tiny glimmer of blue in the centre which the blackness had not yet conquered. Minerva barely had time to register her shock when her vision disappeared completely and she was left with nothing but total darkness.

The atmosphere changed around her. She could no longer feel the cold nip of the night air, nor hear the rustling of the wind in the trees of the Forbidden Forest or the ripples over the lake. It was as though the world had silenced itself and disappeared.

Then Dumbledore's voice floated unruffled over Minerva's heavy, anxious breathing.

"Poppy, get back inside, please, quickly. Do not worry. Minerva and I will be fine. There is nothing to be afraid of.

"Minerva." She heard his voice become slightly louder as she imagined him turning to her. "This may be an element of _productum intumesco_ that Mr. Horendus had not predicted. Do not be alarmed. We will take it in our stride, as we always do."

Minerva grew calmer with Dumbledore's words. He did not seem troubled by the strange turn of events, so she would not be. As her breathing slowed she noticed that something had changed in her vision. Before, it was as though all the light had gone from the world, but now a murky outline was becoming more and more visible and the figure of Dumbledore began to form before her very eyes.

He was simply a dull grey mass at first, but then the colours of his robes began to leak through and spread like ink in water. The features on his face became more and more detailed and his eyes, the last to be defined, were blue again, and calm.

He blinked and looked back at Minerva; then his eyes wandered past her. She turned her head to her right side, then her left as she looked around her. They could have been in the pitch black of space for all they could see. Only their figures shed any light or colour on the scene.

"Where are we?" Minerva asked.

"We are still in the grounds, I think," Dumbledore replied confidently. "It is our vision that had done this, not a change in location. Our eyes and ears seem to be blocking everything out but each other. Do you feel all right?" he asked.

"My chest feels… unusual," Minerva finished lamely. It was hard to describe the pressure that was still pressing persistently against her ribcage.

"I have been feeling that too," Dumbledore told her. "Are you in pain?"

"Not any more," she answered. "It's just uncomfortable. Albus, what is going on?"

The silence all around them was starting to make Minerva feel apprehensive.

"I'm not sure," he replied. We might have to –"

He stopped. Minerva felt it too. A sharp stabbing pain had shot through her chest and she had tried to cry out but no sound would come because her throat was suddenly restricted. She couldn't breathe and the shooting stab came again, but worse this time, forcing her hands to clench into fists. She closed her eyes tightly as she felt the constraint at her throat intensify. She couldn't think clearly. Several seconds past in which she tried to breathe in. It was as though something was pushing against her throat, squeezing it tightly and blocking her airway.

The sharp pain pierced through Minerva's chest again and she fell to the floor, unable to hold herself up any longer. She was loosing all sense of time and space as she began to feel dizzy and disoriented. She was focusing solely on trying to breathe, but the air would not penetrate past her throat, not matter how hard she tried to breathe in.

She felt more than heard Dumbledore collapse next to her. Still with her eyes closed and trying to breathe with all her might, Minerva's hand slowly crawled across the ground in search of Dumbledore. Her fingers found the sleeve of his robes. She moved them down in search of his hand, but her chest was overwhelmed with another agonising shot of pain and her fingers gripped the material of his robes tightly and held on, motionless.

Suddenly, Minerva felt something touch her clenched fist. Dumbledore's other hand had found hers, and his strong fingers wrapped around it. Air rushed to Minerva's lungs as she took a huge gasping breath in. Her airway had suddenly opened and she lay on the ground coughing and spluttering and taking in huge gulps of air, Dumbledore's hand still clamped powerfully over her fist. She could hear him coughing too, and breathing heavily by her side. The pain in her chest had stopped and she waited for it to stab through her body once again; but it never came.

They lay on the black ground, breathing heavily but not longer having to endure their chests feeling as thought they were about to explode. After a few minutes Dumbledore spoke.

"I think Mr. Horendous may have to revise his theory, don't you, Minerva?" he said, still quite breathless.

If Minerva could spare the energy to roll her eyes she would have done. How he could be flippant at a time like this was beyond her.

"Well, he got the first part right," Minerva replied.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said mysteriously.

Minerva sat up slowly and she saw Dumbledore do the same, but noticed that he still kept a very tight hold on her hand.

"Are you all right?" she asked him, rubbing her throat with her free hand.

"Yes," he replied quietly. "Are you?"

Minerva nodded.

"It doesn't make sense though," she said after a few seconds of trying to catch her breath. "Body contact seems to be the main cause for any magic that occurs between us because of the bond. But now it seems to be the thing that stops it. That is why you're not letting go, I take it?" she said, looking down at his hand firmly gripping hers.

"It is," Dumbledore replied. "But you must remember, Minerva, that any magic we have done before now when we have touched has not been harmful or dangerous in any way. It was safe magic. I am merely guessing, of course, but I believe that _productum intumesco_ may be the beginning of something far worse. Kalypto said that the bond will consume us and now it has gone beyond our control as a result of _productum intumesco_ and the magic occurs when we have no contact at all. But, as we are still yet witnessing, our touch has remained safe. I think it is the one thing that grounds the magic."

"But we can't hold hands for the rest of our lives, Albus," Minerva said, taking comfort from absolutely none of Dumbledore's speculations, particularly as the profound darkness was still surrounding them.

"You see our problem as well then," he replied with a smile. "I do not think that physical contact will be necessary at all times. But the air is still heavy with deep magic and I do not think it safe to let go just yet."

They stood up together slowly, very careful not to let their hands break apart. Neither wanted to experience that excruciating pain again. Dumbledore was the first to stand and pulled Minerva the rest of the way until she stood opposite him once more.

Her chest was still burning, but the sting didn't seem so bad after what she had just been subjected to. She looked up at him and saw his sad eyes glistening. She knew what he was thinking. If neither of them carried out the Disunion then this was what awaited both of them – agonising pain over which they had little control. And it was clear that it would get a lot worse. What would happen when the time came when their touch did nothing, when it didn't stop the pain? Was it worth putting each other through this when there was a way that one could escape it, even if it meant destroying their natural bond? Minerva thought not. She did not want to think of Dumbledore suffering until the bond consumed him when there was a chance that he could avoid it, just as he did not want to think of her the same way.

"The Disunion is the lesser of two evils, I think, Minerva. One of us will have to do it and I am at a loss as to how we go about it. I have made up my mind and am as unyielding as I see you are."

The blackness still surrounded them and she could see it pressing against Dumbledore's frame.

"I wish you would just let me do it freely, Albus, as was originally planned," Minerva said with quiet hopelessness.

The edges of Dumbledore's figure seemed to be blurring. Minerva frowned and saw him do the same as his eyes skirted around her own body.

"Hold tight to me, Minerva," he said urgently. "We do not know what is to come."

Minerva watched as Dumbledore's figure was absorbed into blackness. She held tight to his hand as he had said, but it seemed that she could never squeeze it tight enough. It seemed to be fading beneath her clutch. She spoke his name but the word sounded far off even to her own ears. Everything seemed to be fading away.

And then, quite suddenly, Minerva felt pressure on her back and from the back of her head all the way to her heels. She blinked and saw colour, though she couldn't quite make out what it was or where. She couldn't feel Dumbledore's hand at all now but she still grasped the air in front of her and didn't loosen her hold.

The blackness was fading. The light she could see was getting stronger and stronger. It was a warm light, the colour of fire. She blinked again and tried to focus. It was difficult, but after a while she did notice a difference, and when her vision cleared Minerva recognised where she was. She was no longer standing in the grounds of Hogwarts, but lying in her own bed in her own chamber with the fire flaming in the grate and the candlelight flickering around her. Poppy Pomphrey was perched on the edge of a chair by the bed sitting upright and looking alert and anxious.

"Minerva?" she said forcefully, but quietly.

"Mmm," Minerva mumbled, finally dropping her hands to rest at her side, Dumbledore was no longer in front of her. She closed her eyes again; her head was throbbing and the dull ache in her chest was still very present. Minerva raised a hand to her face and pushed her fingers against her eyes whilst saying, "Where's Albus?"

"He's sleeping," Poppy replied.

Minerva's immediate reaction was to look to her right, but, apart from herself, her bed lay empty.

"In his own chamber," Poppy added forcefully with a raised eyebrow. "How are you feeling, Minerva?"

"What happened?" Minerva asked, preferring to avoid Poppy's question for now.

"It was very scary!" she exclaimed, as though Minerva was to blame. "Your eyes went completely black. So did Dumbledore's. Then he told me to go back inside, which I did not do!" she added defiantly. "I saw him turn to you and then suddenly you were both – I don't know I've never seen anything like it."

"What, Poppy?" Minerva pressed insistently, even though Poppy was looking uncharacteristically shaken.

"It was like you were both crying but your tears were completely black, like doxycide. And they didn't fall down your faces either, they sort of drifted out into the air. Yours went towards Dumbledore and his towards you. Then there was just a long stream of black droplets moving between your eyes. I didn't know what it was, Minerva, so I didn't dare come any closer because, for all I know, you could have been hurt if I had broken the magic.

"You stayed like that and were completely silent for a long time without anything else happening," Poppy continued. "Then the tears just stopped. The last of his flowed into your eyes and yours into his. Something else must have happened that knocked you out, though, because Filius had to catch you both with a spell before you hit the floor."

Minerva found she had sat up during Poppy's report and lay back down on the bed, her mind full of confusion. Why should what Poppy have seen been different from what she, Minerva, thought had occurred? Was this something to do with the bond too? She needed to talk to Dumbledore.

"Minerva, you need to rest!" Poppy cried sharply as Minerva made to climb out of her bed. Poppy physically pushed her back down and handed her a glass of something that smelled strongly of pepper. "Drink it!"

Minerva most certainly did not want whatever it was, but Poppy had actually raised the glass to Minerva's lips before she had any chance to protest. Poppy had had much experience in Minerva's refusal of healing potions, and she had obviously come up with a different tack to make her accept them – force.

The potion was disgustingly sweet and tasted nothing like it smelt, but it did cure Minerva's headache mercifully quickly. However, it also made her instantly drowsy – something Minerva did not want at that moment.

"It'll make you feel better, but drowsiness is a side effect," Poppy said unnecessarily. "I'll come back in a few hours," Poppy's voice had become vague, but Minerva caught her words just before she succumbed to the sleep that was pressing in on her.

_She was walking along the corridor. She could see Dumbledore standing ahead of her, facing left and staring at the wall as if there was a window was there that he was looking out of. As she reached him he turned to her. His eyes were completely white. He spoke, but instead of his soft, kind voice, a woman's harsh, scratchy voice emerged._

"_You cannot know everything about the other. You do not know his plans," said the voice from his lips._

_Dumbledore's hair became dark as night and his long beard shrank into his face. He was transformed and now it was Kalypto who stood before Minerva._

"_He is not here," Kalypto said, her voice grating in Minerva's ears._

_Minerva felt a cold hand on her shoulder. She turned and Sally stood before her, just as pale and drawn as before, but this time she spoke. Her voice was a whisper, as weak and frail as her appearance._

"_He is gone."_

Minerva awoke with a jolt, her eyes shooting open and her hand already on its way to the wand on her bedside. Poppy had not returned. Minerva had no idea how long she had been sleeping; she hoped it had not been long. She was wide awake. Rushing from her rooms, thankful that Poppy had not had the mind to change her from her day robes, Minerva hurried to Dumbledore's quarters already knowing what she would find.

She reached the entrance and moved aside a tapestry that depicted the feats of Merlin and began to walk down a short corridor that seemingly led to a dead end. She spoke the password ("_mint humbugs_") quietly and the wall ahead dissolved before her very eyes revealing the living quarters of the headmaster.

Minerva raced through the cosily lit, completely circular living room to the only door of the room, opposite, which boasted four door handles. She seized the bottom one and pulled hard. She had always disliked the heaviness of the door but tonight, in her desperation, she opened it with ease.

She was greeted by a narrow stone bridge that crossed high over the centre of the bedroom below and ended at the top of a spiral stone staircase that led down into the room. She peered over the left edge of the little bridge. The hangings surrounding the large bed were open. Minerva's stomach dropped; the bed was empty, as she knew it would be.

Turning fast on her heel, Minerva rushed back into the Roundroom. The section of wall she had entered his quarters through dissolved immediately for her when she approached. She pushed the tapestry open forcefully and sped down the corridor that would take her to Dumbledore's office, her last futile hope.

The stone gargoyle looked challengingly at her as it always did, but it jumped aside obligingly when it heard the password, and Minerva stepped hastily onto the top step of the revolving spiral staircase as it appeared behind the dividing wall.

As she willed the staircase to move faster she stood anxiously on the spot, hoping beyond all hope that she was wrong; that her dream had just been a dream, and the fact that she couldn't feel Dumbledore's presence was because of the physical exertion they had both just suffered.

She reached the door to Dumbledore's office and knocked, praying that his voice would answer. There was silence.

"No," Minerva said quietly, but, in her distress, was not conscious that she had spoken at all. She pushed open the door and let herself in. The office was dark and empty. And she finally accepted what she already knew – Dumbledore had left for the Disunion.


	30. Lee Horendus

_**Lee Horendus**_

Minerva stood rooted to the spot for a full minute, stunned. Since she awoke from her dream she had known that Dumbledore would not be in the castle, but witnessing it for real was no less shocking. How could he leave? How could he leave and not tell her? How could he leave and not say goodbye? A dry sob was wrenched from her throat. Was it possible that she would never see him again?

All of a sudden massive pain erupted in her chest, and Minerva's thoughts were broken. Poppy's drink may have cured her aching head, but the feeling that her chest was expanding beyond conceivability had certainly not evaporated. Her mind focused on Dumbledore as she tried to push past the pain. How much of a head start had he had? Perhaps she could stop him before it was too late. But where should she go? Her first thought was Fortuna Cottage where Kalypto lived, but Minerva had the idea that even if Dumbledore had gone there and told Kalypto what he was doing, Kalypto would not breathe a word of it to Minerva.

The Ministry of Magic then. If there was one person who did not want Dumbledore to carry out the Disunion as much as Minerva (though for rather different reasons), it was the Minister for Magic, and it was the Department of Mysteries where the answers lay.

Giving it no other thought, Minerva marched over to the fireplace and plunged her hand into the Floo powder on the mantel. There was a dull ache in her chest now. The embers were glowing orange but gave off barely any light until the powder hit the coals and the fire roared to life, green and magnificent.

"Ministry of Magic," Minerva said clearly, and she was soon spinning past hundreds of different grates until she slowed and reached the one she required.

The Atrium of the Ministry was empty apart from a few early morning workers, some walking along wide awake and alert (clearly the early risers) and others slumping tiredly, yawning with every other breath. Glancing at a clock for the first time since the dream had woken her, Minerva saw that it was almost five. She had slept for longer than she thought, the dark winter morning misleading her into thinking it was still early night.

She rushed towards the lift, her concentration entirely on getting to Dumbledore as soon as she could. She slammed the gold frame of the lift closed and hit the number 'nine' button hard.

"Department of Mysteries," announced a cool female voice a few seconds later.

Minerva opened the grilles with a loud clatter and stepped out into bare corridor that had a large black door at the far end. Her chest stabbed painfully again, but she kept moving. Following signs etched into the wall directing her to the main office, she turned left just before the door and hurried down some steps that led into another corridor, stone this time, which glimmered orange in the torchlight flickering along the walls.

She could hear a low voice behind the first of many heavy wooden doors and then heard the Minister's voice in reply.

In her haste and panic a silent spell shot out of Minerva's wand which she had kept a tight hold of ever since she had awoken, and the door crashed open. She rushed through, the wand clutched threateningly at her side.

"Where is he?" They were the first words she'd spoken to anyone since she had realised Dumbledore had gone, and she could hear the terror in her frenzied tone.

There were two wizards before her. Both were looking stunned at her sudden entry and they remained frustratingly silent from their shock for several long seconds.

"Where's Albus?" Minerva said, louder this time, and more desperate. Every second that went by brought Dumbledore closer to the brutal separation.

"What – I –," spluttered the Minister unhelpfully. "What – what are you doing? What do you mean 'where's Dumbledore'?"

Minerva tried to breathe through her impatience and the ache on her chest which was not weakening. However, even in her distracted state she noticed the second man in the room give the Minister a wary sidelong glance. This man had long black hair and a beard that reached past his shoulders, both of which were streaked with grey. He was dressed from head to toe in silver and a monocle was dangling on the edge of a silver chain that hung around his neck.

"Professor McGonagall, I presume?" said the man in silver, calmly. Minerva's eyes shot from the Minister to him. "I'm Lee Horendus, the manager of the … project… that has so recently come to your attention."

Minerva's irritation did not vanish but her surprise at this declaration definitely diminished it.

"Lee Horendus? The author?"

She was surprised to see that his cheeks tinged pink. "You've read my work?" he asked. Minerva couldn't believe she was standing before the man whose major hypothesis she had just proven and he did not even know it.

"Yes," she told him automatically, still surprised.

"I'd like to know what you think, Professor McGonagall," Horendus said, still with very evident calmness. "I have of course read the papers you have had published." He waved a hand to his left and Minerva took in her surroundings for the first time.

She was in a small room lined with shelf upon shelf of papers and scrolls of parchment, the oldest of which were at the very back of the room, their pages more tattered and yellowing than any of the others. On Horendus's left where he had indicated, were the more crisp looking pieces of parchment, the most recent documents.

Horendus continued, "Very impressive indeed. I'm not surprised Dumbledore… well."

"Where is he?" said Minerva forcefully, at last overcoming her surprise at the bizarre revelation.

Horendus sighed uneasily, fracturing his calm façade, and once again his dark blue eyes flicked nervously sideways to the Minister who was looking utterly confused at the whole situation.

"He came to me a just over an hour ago," Horendus said uncomfortably. "I am sorry, Professor McGonagall. I couldn't stop him. I don't have that sort of power."

Minerva saw the anxiety in his eyes. Her stomach clenched anxiously. An aching lump rose in her throat and her eyes prickled.

"Where is he?" she repeated, her voice low as she tried to control it.

The Minister turned to Horendus, a deep frown exaggerating his already wrinkled forehead.

"He has gone where you cannot follow," Horendus told Minerva. "There is nothing you can do now."

Despite his lack of cooperation, Minerva thought Horendus really did look as though he felt deeply guilty. And so he should, she thought, her anger rising suddenly. He has managed the project from the beginning; he was the one who brought this curse upon her and Dumbledore and had created a magic so deep and intense that he could not control it.

With Minerva's sudden wild rush of anger and distress came a recklessness that caused the hand that clutched her wand to shoot through the air. The tip of the wand pointed at Horendus's heart. She heard the Minister gasp and take his own wand from the pocket of his robes, but Horendus raised his hand immediately and the Minister lowered his arm. Minerva's moist eyes blazed with anger as her chest once again swelled painfully.

"Why won't you tell me where he is?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Horendus's eyes were on the wand as he spoke, his breaths suddenly shorter than before.

"He ordered me not to," he said tensely. "I can't speak the words of his location. He knew you'd come here."

"What on earth are you talking about, Lee?" said the Minister, finally attempting to conquer his confusion and offer something to the conversation.

"That's why I called you here tonight, Minister. I'm sorry," Horendus said nervously, still not taking his eyes from Minerva's wand. "You have every right to dismiss me. I have gone against your orders, but I really had no choice." He paused and turned his head to the Minister.

"_Well_?" the Minister demanded.

"Professor Dumbledore – is about to undertake the process of Disunion."

"WHAT?" bellowed the Minister. Minerva shot him an impatient glance. "But where is Kalypto?" he continued, suddenly desperate.

"What does Kalypto have to do with any of this?" Minerva asked with annoyance. Her question was met with a pause as the Minister looked at her surprised.

"You don't know?" he asked tentatively.

Minerva frowned. "Know what?"

Horendus gave the Minister another concerned look.

"Neither of them knew," Horendus informed him. "Kalypto didn't say a word to either." He looked at Minerva who had lowered her wand despite her anger that this man may have led Dumbledore to his death.

"It is Kalypto who is executing the Disunion," Horendus told her. "She is the only one who can see the bond in its true form, something that our eyes cannot see, so she is the only one who can break it."

Minerva looked at Horendus, stunned.

"But then she'd have to know Albus is planning on doing it now. If she doesn't, then surely he cannot do it?" she thought out loud, trying to find logic and calm amongst all this chaos. A glimmer of hope rose inside her as she spoke. If Dumbledore didn't know he needed Kalypto for the Disunion he would not be able to initiate it by himself. Horendus looked uncomfortable.

"I told him," he told Minerva quietly. "Earlier. When he came to see me. He left for Fortuna Cottage barely an hour before you arrived here."

The half raised hand clutching Minerva's wand fell limply at her side. A sudden hollowness seemed to have emptied her of all thought and feeling. Dumbledore was an hour ahead of her and he had found out about Kalypto.

"I am truly sorry, Professor," she vaguely heard Horendus say. "I don't even know why it has come to this. I always thought – forgive me, but I always thought you would be the one to do it. But Dumbledore was so insistent. It all happened so suddenly, so fast."

Minerva took a deep breath and forced herself to raise her eyes to the man who did not seem to realise what he had created.

"Something happened tonight that made Albus… come to see you," she said. "We hadn't planned for him to do it. That was what we were arguing about."

"Are you sure he hadn't planned this? He may not have said anything for your protection and been planning it all along," chipped in the Minister snidely. "As soon as he found out that the bond was becoming too powerful he said that he would find a way for you to avoid the Disunion."

"What happened tonight?" asked Horendus curiously, ignoring the Minister's comments.

Minerva looked at Horendus for a few seconds before speaking, having forgotten in her panic and anger that he had predicted the night events with the utmost accuracy.

"_Productum Intumesco_," Minerva said.

"Oh my heavens," said Horendus. "It can't be…" he whispered to himself. "Now? No, the timing is off."

"What do you mean?" Minerva asked forcefully. "Timing for what?"

Horendus sighed impatiently. "I never predicted the effects of _productum intumesco_, Professor. I _created_ them," he told her, his eyes glinting suddenly.

Minerva was once again stunned into silence and Horendus quickly took the opportunity to elaborate.

"I wrote _The Complexly and Intolerably Advanced Theory of Magic_ whilst we were in the middle of the experiments with Dumbledore," he explained hurriedly. "My notes in the book are purposely misleading. I led people to think that _any_ witch or wizard can carry out _productum intumesco_ – a mere marketing strategy, I'm afraid. In actuality, it only happens when two people are _too_ strongly connected. And there are only two such people in the world… as far as I know," he added.

"_Productum intumesco_ was created as a sign for us here, for the Unspeakables, to let us know if the bond was getting too strong. It was supposed to be a safety measure. We realised after the battle that we did not need it. Your injury leaving an echo on Dumbledore was warning enough. It told us that the bond was already growing power beyond anything we had expected. It told us that we had to go ahead with the Disunion.

"The fact that _Productum intumesco_ has now occurred means that the _engulfment _has been set in motion. The bond is consuming you both. Now. But something is not right. If our calculations are correct it should not be happening this early."

This was too much for Minerva. She could not believe what she was hearing. The pain in her chest lurched again, as though it was aware of what was being said.

"If the _engulfment _has begun," she said, breathing a little faster than usual from pain and fear, "can the Disunion still take place?"

"I don't know, but I don't think it will go to plan if it does. The _engulfment _means that the bond has grown even further beyond the boarders of our control. You will be more connected to Dumbledore and he to you than ever before. If Kalypto does not realise this and carries out the Disunion…" he left his sentence hanging.

Minerva's chest swelled painfully and this time she could not hold back her grimace.

"What? What is it?" Horendus asked, suddenly frantic.

She did not speak. Her lips and eyes were tightly closed as she tried to breathe slowly through the increasing pain. When it subsided enough for her to regain some control she spoke.

"We need to get to Albus before they begin the Disunion. You have to tell me where he is," she said urgently.

"I told you I cannot speak it. But maybe –," he said ponderingly, "– maybe I could take you there?"

Another painful stab struck in Minerva's chest. "We have to move quickly," she said.

Horendus gave Minerva a concerned look as she pressed her hand hard against her chest, but he said, "This way," and led Minerva and the Minister out of the room.

The pain in her chest diminished slightly as she followed Horendus down the corridor. But then an altogether different feeling erupted all over her body. She felt a cold wind engulf her frame, and as well as the stone corridor ahead with the torches at either side holding balls of light, Minerva was also walking through the narrow entrance of a cave which surrounded her with jagged, wet rock. It was as if the two views before her were partially transparent; as though one was on top of the other. She could see them both. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the cave entrance vanished and the stone corridor reappeared fully visible and completely solid.

Horendus was looking at Minerva in alarm. She had stopped walking and was standing as still as stone.

"What is it?" he asked anxiously.

"He's almost there," Minerva whispered, swaying slightly on the spot. She did not know how she knew, but she was in no doubt that this cave was Dumbledore's destination.

"Quickly," Horendus said, turning a large iron handle and, putting his arm around Minerva's waist to support her unsteady frame, he led her and the Minister through the nearest door. They were in a large room with benches rising high on three sides and were half way to the nearest bench when Horendus spoke again.

"You need to sit down, Professor. There's no chance that we will reach him in time now. I need to fetch –"

But exactly what Horendus needed to fetch, Minerva never discovered.


	31. Disunion

**A/N: **Violence Warning

_**Disunion**_

The strange feeling had exploded inside her again, stronger this time. She looked around the large courtroom and saw that she was also surrounded by the walls of a large circular cave. The cave, however, kept disappearing then reappearing from her sight like shadows in flickering candlelight.

She took several steps away from the benches that Horendus had been leading her to and walked towards the centre of the room, squinting at the cave walls surrounding her, trying to keep them in focus. Where was she? Or rather, where was Dumbledore? But she could not answer her questions. Nothing else was visible to her except the unstable glimpses of the jagged cave walls.

She turned to walk back to the benches and saw the Minister and Horendus blending in with the cave walls, looking at her in bewilderment. Then, suddenly, she could not move.

Without Minerva directing them, her arms were flung out from her sides as though she was about to take flight and her head thrown backwards. She could not stop it. She could not speak. She stood there paralysed, her robes rustling in a breeze that was absent from the courtroom but present in the cave.

"Merlin's beard! What's happening?"

The Minister's alarmed voice was muffled in Minerva's ears. It was as though she was present at two locations, neither place fully formed before her; not in sight nor sound nor air. Her chest no longer ached but a terrible fear had gripped her as she stood there, powerless, trying in vain to lift her head forward. She had no control over her body, but she knew that somehow this was linked to Dumbledore – that he was going through the same phenomenon.

"I have no idea," Horendus replied from far away. "But I have to record this… and I have to call my team…"

The sounds in the courtroom were abruptly drowned out by a whirling gust of wind rushing against Minerva's ears. Strands of hair had come loose and were whipping against her face in the wind that was not there. One moment she would catch the scent of the musty courtroom, then the air would suddenly change and she would pick up the dank smell of the cave.

Nothing happened for several seconds. A deadly chill had washed over her as she stood immobile in the middle of the courtroom. Everything had become cool, cold even, and silent.

Then the cave started to become more solid and she found that she could move her head again, but her arms were still thrust out at her sides, straight and immovable. She tipped her head forward and looked straight ahead of her. The Minister and Horendus were there but they were not as clear as the cave wall. And there was someone else.

Kalypto.

She was positioned just behind Horendus and the Minister, though in a different location altogether. She stood before Dumbledore in the cave, dressed all in black with the veil covering her. She held no wand, and there was no longer any jewellery on her deathly thin, pale fingers.

"All will be well." Kalypto's voice was as distant to Minerva's ears as Horendus's had been.

As Dumbledore nodded, so too did Minerva. But all the time she knew that this could not go ahead and she wanted to cry out to Dumbledore, to Kalypto. They had to stop. They cannot know how Minerva is connected to this. Dumbledore cannot know, otherwise he surely would not persist. But she couldn't speak. She was trapped inside her head. Her actions were Dumbledore's actions. Her voice Dumbledore's voice.

Then the cave faded slightly, and as Kalypto vanished the Minister and Horendus grew denser before her. But her body was still under Dumbledore's power, even though her mind was her own.

And suddenly, pain beyond any other came crashing down on her. The Minister and Horendus watched in horror as great, long searing gash appeared in the skin of Minerva's thigh as it was slashed open, tearing through her robes. With her arms still suspended she could do nothing but be a defenceless subject to the sudden attack. What she wanted to do was scream – scream until she had no more breath left in her. Her leg jerked once but that was all it could do in her immobile state.

Another gash appeared immediately after, on her hip this time and on the opposite side to her ripped thigh. Another spasm; another jerk. Minerva wished she could cry out in agony as the cut struck deep to her hipbone.

Her chest was next where a slash flashed straight across from shoulder to shoulder and over the healed scar under her collarbone. The warning scar. She clenched her teeth tightly.

She felt as though she was being torn apart as the ruthless lesions appeared one after the other, making a horrifying pattern up her body, shredding her robes as they had sliced quickly and deeply through her skin.

Her neck suddenly slit on one side straight up to her ear and a noise finally escaped Minerva's lips; a low, quiet cry broke out as she tilted her head away from the pain.

A fifth lash and her back was sliced down her spine. She did move this time, because Dumbledore had moved. Her back arched away as though she had just been flogged and her head flung back, this time of Dumbledore's own accord and not from the magic that held them there.

A tear escaped and fell down her temple and into her loose hair as she looked upward to the ceilings of the cave and courtroom. There was so much pain, and still she could not cry out, while in her mind she was screaming in agony. She could feel the warm blood from her wounds pouring out and dripping down her skin, soaking her robes.

Minerva stood breathing hard. The gaping wounds burned and hurt, but it was not just the gashes that were causing her pain. Something was happening inside her. It felt as though something was being wrenched away, tearing at her flesh as it left.

Another tear fell as more blood leaked from her body, draining it, bleeding it dry.

Then there was stillness. Minerva was breathing in heavy, ragged rasps and they seemed to echo inside her head. She was staring up at the two cavernous ceilings, feeling a stream of blood trickling down her neck blending in with the rivers that were flowing out of her body, but all around her was still. Absolute silence.

Then from the silence came a subtle but poisonous whispering that was present neither in the cave nor the courtroom. It rolled through the air, disturbing the hush. Minerva's fingers twitched and she suddenly found that she could move again, but she knew the ordeal wasn't over.

Still breathing heavily her arms fell painfully to her side and she lifted her head forward, the ceiling of the two locations swimming before her eyes as she did so.

She stumbled, too weak keep herself steady as her vision spun and blurred. She caught herself just before she fell and her bent spine pulled the wound on her back even further apart. Silent tears leaked from her eyes, she felt sure she was going to die. She didn't feel whole. It was as though half of her very being had been ripped from her and swallowed into nothingness, taking her strength with it.

She was gasping for air now. Her breathlessness seemed to be getting worse. Perhaps half of that had been torn away from her too, or perhaps the stumble had been too much for her weakened body. Slowly, very slowly, she looked up.

She could no longer see the cave. The Minister and Horendus were clear and solid before her. But there were more people now – at least six others, all with the same horrified expression on their foolish faces. Why aren't they helping? Why are they just standing there, staring? Then she noticed that a few of them were scribbling on hard wooden boards which had pieces of parchment pinned to them. _They were taking notes_.

A rough, unintelligible noise was released from Minerva's throat. She tasted blood. She did not have the strength to lift herself upright but she managed to keep her head steady as her unfocused eyes looked towards the crowd of observers. She made several attempts to speak, each time struggling for the breath she was losing. Finally she managed to gasp the words.

"What – what's happening – to us? Oh!" She cried out as the cuts on her body simultaneously seared with pain.

"Sir, don't you think we should–," said an anxious voice unknown to Minerva.

"We can't," replied Horendus. "If we interrupt it now there is no telling what could happen. My God, I never imagined this."

Minerva cried out again. It felt as though dozens of hands were taking hold of her wounds and pulling them apart. She couldn't hold her head up any longer. Her chin fell against her chest and she saw that her blood was flowing over the flagstones below.

Her legs shook and gave way beneath the weight of her weakened body. Her knees collided with the floor producing an almighty crack and sending sharp tremors reverberating up her legs. But that was nothing compared to the slashes to her body. She could feel her heart rebounding off the bars of her ribs, pumping the blood out of her deep wounds; relentless, deep red liquid flowed from the ends of her fingers and onto the stone below.

She couldn't stay on her knees any longer and she slumped backwards, down onto her calves – she was on the cold ground, kneeling down before her audience. Her chin was still against her heaving chest and her arms had fallen by her side, her moist, glistening red knuckles now draped on the stone floor.

She couldn't feel the individual wounds now. The pain had united and her entire body was throbbing with it. Her tears were a constant trickle down her cheeks and her blood began to pool around her. She watched as her energy drained away. Everyone was silent in the courtroom, watching the woman before them dying slowly and painfully.

But she could not die like this – kneeling before the men who have cursed her, destroyed her. Destroyed Albus.

Albus.

With every ounce of strength she could muster Minerva lifted her chin off her chest. Her breaths came harshly and with huge effort but she managed to look up at the people studying her.

Each and every one of them looked dismayed and sickened. But they were fading. Fading like they had before and another figure was appearing like a growing swarm out of the air. Kalypto had reappeared.

Somehow, Minerva knew this was it. The final stage of the Disunion. She had no idea what was coming but she hoped that whatever it was would be quick and rid her of this frightening agony. She looked past the fading Ministry members to the veiled witch.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Kalypto raised her arms straight and high above her, her hands open to the heavens. A huge gust of wind raged past Minerva from somewhere behind her and roared towards Kalypto. Kalypto's robes flew back and her veil was blown from her body, disappearing into the shadows of the cave. Her white eyes blazed terribly as she looked down on Dumbledore.

Suddenly, a dazzling light followed the thunderous wind. Streaks of flaming white lightning flashed past Minerva and crashed into Kalypto's open palms. The witch's long black hair was swept from around her frame in the blast as the lightning smashed into her. Then it began to brew around her like a storm.

Minerva could feel the energy of Kalypto's storm increase. She could feel its might become bigger and greater. Kalypto's white eyes looked down at Minerva, not seeing her, only Dumbledore.

Then the tempest reached its climax. Minerva saw Kalypto take in a huge breath as she moved her arms back slowly. Minerva's eyes widened in horror – she was going to release the power that she held between her hands onto Dumbledore.

Kalypto's body rose off the ground. Her arms began to move forward. Minerva had to stop this. She cried out with all her strength.

"NO!"

"WAIT!"

Dumbledore's voice sounded loud in her ears and a weak stab of hope filled Minerva, but Kalypto's hands were already shooting forwards through the air towards them.

The last thing Minerva saw were the white eyes, wide with shock, and everything went black.


	32. Just a Name

_**Just a Name**_

The first thing she felt was a dull but painful throbbing over her entire body. She made a half-hearted attempt to open her eyes but her lids were like heavy weights and she quickly gave up. She wiggled her fingers and toes because they seemed to be the only parts of her body that she could move, and besides, they weren't giving off the blunt pain with every heartbeat like the rest of her body.

She didn't think she was dead. Surely this much pain with every beat of her living pulse negated that? But then where was she? What had happened to get her into this state? Everything seemed so jumbled in her mind.

As she lay motionless, she could feel each and every cell of her body tingle; a constant prickling, not like the ache that came with every beat of her heart. She tried to move her legs but her thigh smarted with the movement. Why, she wondered.

She attempted to open her eyes again, but only a blurred line of light shone through before they fell heavily back over her eyes. She tried to listen to the noises around her but it seemed that nothing was making a sound. Was she alone, wherever she was?

She listened harder, concentrating. She needed to find out where she was. Suddenly, a muffled clatter came from somewhere to her left, and a distant yell came soon after, though she couldn't make out what was said. So she wasn't alone.

The tingling under the surface of her skin became more vigorous as she lay awake for what could have been hours, unable to move or speak or do anything it seemed but wiggle her fingers and toes. When the prickling reached an unbearable limit Minerva's head twitched sending shooting pains up one side of her neck and across her chest. She sucked in air through her teeth with a hiss, or at least she would have done if her brain had sent that particular message to her mouth.

After a while the shooting pains fell back to the dull throb in rhythm with the rest of her body and allowed Minerva to think. The pain in her neck seemed understandable; after all she had been lying in the same position for what could have been hours; but across her chest?

An image suddenly floated before her – a memory. She could see her drenched robes as she looked down at her own body, and blood was gushing from her over the floor. Then another vision came; white eyes blazing above her as she was slumped on a slippery, red floor. Then another; blinding flashes of light gathering force before her.

Suddenly a single word echoed in her head: "_Wait!_"

"Wait," she whispered. Her teeth felt strange. They seemed to be tingling along with the rest of her skin.

The images started to blend together in her mind and her breathing raced as the full picture presented itself to her. She tried to lift her arms but her body ached too much. She started to panic. What had happened after Kalypto had performed the final act of the Disunion? She needed to find out where she was; needed to know what had happened; needed to talk to Horendus; to the Minister; to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore. His name echoed strangely in her head. He had discovered that Minerva was somehow connected to the Disunion… at the final moment.

Minerva didn't pause to dwell on the unfamiliar feeling of indifference when she thought of Dumbledore. First thing's first: _where was she_?

She began to feel around her. She was lying on her back, that much was certain, but the strange thing was she could not feel anything beneath her. Not a mattress; a sheet; even a stone floor. Nothing. There was no smell that she could identify as being peculiar or distinct to a certain place. The only information she had to go on was the odd clattering that had happened nearby.

She made a sudden determined decision. She had to open her eyes. Slowly, very slowly, the crack of blurry light leaked through again. Her eyes fell shut. She sighed inwardly in frustration. She tried again, only resulting in infuriating herself further. Her eyelids we just too heavy for her to lift. More and more she tried, harder and harder, but to the same result. She was about to concede defeat to her eyelids when, suddenly, the light remained.

It wasn't a bright light, but bright enough when your eyes have seen only darkness for so long. It must be night, she concluded. The light was flickering like candlelight.

She opened her eyes further and they stung and watered from the dull light that was invading them, but she did not care. She was looking up at a pure white ceiling which joined with white walls. The ceiling seemed to be very close to her, as though she was quite high up. She tried to turn her head but gave up immediately when the pain in her neck twinged sharply.

St. Mungo's; it must be, she thought. But that information did not lead her to the reason she could not feel a bed beneath her, nor to why she seemed rather closer to the ceiling than was usual when one is lying down.

She heard a groan escape her lips, but wasn't aware that she had needed to make one, or was able to.

"Minerva?"

She groaned again in response. She knew that voice.

"Dad?" she whispered.

"Oh, thank goodness, you're awake."

"Dad," Minerva repeated. Her voice sounded muffled and groggy to her ears. "I can't see you. Where are you?"

There was a pause before Micheil McGonagall spoke.

"I'm not permitted to enter your room, Minerva," he told her, and she could tell he was doing his best to keep the frustration out of his voice. "I'm standing outside it. I'm sorry you can't see me."

Sudden tears leaked down Minerva's temples and into her hair. She suddenly realised how much she wanted to see her father. To hold his hand. To see his eyes. He must have cast a spell so that she could hear him through the walls, and he her.

"Am I in St. Mungo's?"

"Yes."

"I feel strange," Minerva said.

"I know, darling, I know."

Minerva wondered what he meant by that. Perhaps he was simply trying to comfort her. It did not work.

"Why can't you come in?" she asked.

Another pause in which Minerva presumed her father was trying to think of the best way to let her know what was wrong with her.

"You have a sort of… force around you. The healers aren't telling me anything about it; only that your visitors cannot see you just yet."

"Do you know anything about what happened?" Minerva asked, wincing. The wound in her neck stung badly when she spoke.

"I was told that you were brought in by several people. I know that the Minister for Magic was with them." Minerva heard the awe in her father's voice. "After I got here Albus Dumbledore was brought in by a man I don't know. This man told one of the healers that your injuries and Dumbledore's were connected in some way." Micheil McGonagall paused. "Dumbledore looked… he looked…" Apparently her father could not being himself to tell Minerva how Dumbledore looked.

"When?" Minerva asked.

"Minerva, I –"

"When, Dad?" she said as forcefully as she could with her neck feeling as though it were about to turn itself inside out.

She heard her father sigh. "About two months ago," he said.

Minerva closed her eyes. Two months. Two whole months. What had happened to her? There were so many questions she wanted her father to answer. Many of which she knew he would not know the answer to.

"Minerva?" he said when she did not respond.

Ignoring the fresh wave of tears that were moistening her hair, she asked, "How's Dumbledore?" There was that feeling again; that feeling of distance, detachment.

"He has not yet woken, as far as I know. No one can see him either. God, I'm so glad you're awake, Minerva!" he burst out. It seemed that he had been trying to contain himself to talk to her, to give her answers. She smiled inwardly. He knew her well. She could hear his own tears in his voice. "We've all be so bloody worried. I wish to God I could come in there and see you."

Minerva wished she could move. Her frustration at being in this immobile state was building up inside her and she wanted to scream herself hoarse. Her mind unexpectedly flashed back to the courtroom and the cave and the agony she had felt; how she wanted to scream then too, but her body would not let her.

Minerva felt something light touch her back. It began to grow heavier and heavier. She opened her eyes. The ceiling was further away than it had been only seconds ago. She could feel the soft material of the St. Mungo's linen caress her burning skin. She seemed to be floating gently down. Had she been lying in mid-air?

As the full weight of her body fell upon the bed, sudden, blinding pain burst over Minerva and she called out in agony.

"Minerva?" Her father was answered with more cries. "MINERVA!"

-

"…how long was she out?"

"Not long. The healers came immediately and helped settle her dow–"

"Look! I think she's waking."

"Minerva?"

Minerva opened her eyes gradually and allowed the blurred room to come into focus. The pain in her body had not gone entirely but it had certainly lessened. She turned her head to the people standing around her bed. Her father was on her right, clenching her hand tightly but carefully in his. His eyes were red and his face was tear-streaked but he was smiling at her. Lee Horendus was next to him looking at Minerva with a worried face.

"Get out," Minerva said as forcefully as she could, which turned out to be barely over a whisper. Horendus looked at her in surprise.

"I have to talk to you, Miss McGonagall," he said. "We need to discuss what happened at the Ministry."

"Is that really necessary, Mr. Horendus?" Micheil McGonagall said. "My daughter has just woken from an extreme ordeal. Do you really think that now is the time to be questioning her?"

"With all due respect, sir, I think now is the best time. She will not want to think on it later."

"It's all right, Dad," Minerva said weakly. "I have a few questions myself." Horendus looked rather nervous at this statement but nodded to Minerva all the same.

"Right, well," her father began. "I think I'll go and get a good strong drink. I'll come back soon, darling, all right?"

He bent over and kissed her delicately on the cheek, then walked uncertainly from the room.

There was an awkward silence in the moments after the door clicked shut. Horendus moved across the room to fetch a chair and positioned it beside Minerva's bed; the only bed in the room.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her.

"Like I've just been cut in two and tortured by a sharp and invisible weapon. How are you feeling?" Minerva said curtly.

Horendus sighed. "You have to believe me when I say that I had no idea that this was going to happen."

"Yes," Minerva replied. "You thought _I_ would carry out the Disunion and that I would die in the process."

Horedus was silent. Minerva's neck smarted and she turned to look back up at the ceiling. Even though she now knew that she could move, it seemed best and less painful if she remained still.

"Please explain to me what happened in the courtroom," Horendus said gently. "What did you see?"

Minerva took in a deep breath through her nose. It hurt her chest, but she sighed out through the pain. Then she began. She told Horendus everything. She described the cave; the way she was paralysed; the feeling she had, like she was being torn apart; Kalypto holding a storm in her hands; Dumbledore feeling Minerva's presence at the last minute; Kalypto's shocked face.

Horendus listened in silence until Minerva's last word was spoken amongst the tears that were once again spilling down her face.

"Lightning, you say?" he asked. "Of course; no wonder you were suspended in mid-air over your bed. The energy from the storm was holding you there. And your hair is static. It has been since you arrived here.

"The energy must have died out after you had woken and so you lost the power that was holding you up and holding in your pain. Dumbledore has not woken yet, and that is why he is still suspended in the air. The storm actually hit him, you merely felt the effects of it."

"But why could I feel it at all?" Minerva asked. "The Disunion was supposed to be separate; I thought that was the point. That's why the Minister was so desperate to keep Albus away from it."

"The _engulfment_," Horendus replied. "The Disunion was supposed to take place _before_ the _engulfment_ happened – before you were too strongly connected to each other. I think that is also the reason that you both survived. It was essentially two people fighting the Disunion instead of one, but it meant of course that both of you were injured and not just the person who was having physical contact."

"There is one thing I don't understand," Minerva said. "Why could I feel Albus' presence but he did not know I was there with him, if only in essence? Usually we have the same level of feeling."

Horendus pondered this for a moment. Despite the pain it caused in her neck, Minerva turned her head to look at him. His forehead was creased in thought and he was twisting several strands of his black and silver beard around his fingers.

"When the Disunion took place," he began, "Dumbledore's whole being was forced to concentrate on it, to fight it. It seems that you were drawn into Dumbledore; you became a part of him, so he would not have been able to feel your presence because you _were_ him. You were going through the same movements as him, the same emotions; you saw everything through his eyes. It was only at the last moment that you broke away from that. I don't know how, but you let him know that you were there. And he felt you."

Minerva thought back. She remembered how the thought of Dumbledore had revived her as she was slumped on the stone floor, dying slowly and painfully before the members of the Department of Mysteries. How it had given her the energy to fight back.

The thought of Dumbledore did not seem to invoke any such emotion now. It was merely a name among millions.


	33. Memories

_**Memories**_

_March 1977_

Minerva watched as the last of the healers left the room. It had been a fortnight since she had awoken and she was still in St. Mungo's, but she was finally out of her bandages.

The last fourteen days had gone swiftly, mainly because she had slept for most of it. When she was not sleeping, she would walk around the hospital with the healers. These walks were to soften the healing skin around her wounds. She had been informed that she could not stay still for long periods of time otherwise her wounds would heal stiffly and her movement would end up being permanently restricted. So no matter how much pain it caused her, Minerva kept moving.

Her other time had been taken up by yet more healers who had spent hours dressing and redressing her wounds. The fourteenth day was the day the bandages finally came off. The healers had examined her cuts which had not yet healed and had left Minerva covered in what she thought looked like streaks of pale green paint. This was of course not the case. The brushes of green paint were actually stripes of smelly cream which covered each of the deep, healing slashes to her skin.

Minerva was now standing in the middle of her room, painted green with an annoyingly pink gown draped over her frame. She stood in silence. She had none of the desperate need to be out of the hospital like the last time she was there. Her mind was still full of questions and thoughts about what had happened to her; some so profound that thinking about them scared her, but it was these thoughts which kept her appreciating the time she had alone to think.

Minerva appreciated the visitors she had had, but there was a void inside her that seemed to create a barrier between her and everyone else. No matter how well her physical wounds were healing, there was a damage that went deeper than any healer seemed to realise. It felt as though a part of her very soul had been violently torn away form her, and in the quiet nights in the hospital or in moments alone such as this, she was left to dwell on whether that was in fact the case. Her soul. Her own soul

She was constantly troubled by the thought of not being whole. Not being the person she was when she was born. She knew that something had been taken from her in the Disunion. Was Dumbledore a part of her from the beginning? And did severing their bond cut their individual selves in half; cut their souls in half?

Dumbledore's room continued to remain firmly closed to anyone who was not a St. Mungo's healer working on his recovery. He was much worse off than Minerva by all accounts, but she had recovered and the healers believed that, with time, so would he.

Her thoughts of Dumbledore continued disturbed her for the disconcerting reason that no emotion of any kind surfaced when his smiling face floated before her eyes. Her indifference to him was terrifying.

She had begun to appreciate this quiet moment of solitude in her hospital room covered in the smelly green cream, but now that she was thinking of him she needed a distraction. And there was someone she had been wanting to see.

-

Sally was on the same floor of St. Mungo's as Minerva. _Spell Damage_. She was sitting on the end of her bed folding pieces of parchment again and again until they were so small and thick that she could fold them no longer. Then she would place them in a pile by her side and continue with the next one.

When Minerva reached the bed, Sally looked up at her blankly and then went back to folding the parchment.

"Sally?" Minerva said in the whisper that was currently her normal voice. "It's me, Minerva."

Sally did not look up again, but slid from the bed and moved to the other side of the room. Minerva watched as she stepped behind a chair and pushed, sliding it across the floor making a loud, hollow noise as the legs scraped forward to the bottom of the bed. Sally sat back next to her large pile of folded parchment and resumed her task.

Minerva smiled and sat in the chair.

"I have to talk to you, Sally. About so many things. I don't know if you can understand, but I just want to talk to you. Such a lot has happened since you were brought here."

Minerva's eyes stung with tears and she did not prevent them. They fell down her cheeks and dripped onto her hands that were clasped in her lap. She told Sally everything that had taken place, and even though Sally made no indication that she could understand or that she was even listening, Minerva felt as though a great weight was being lifted.

As she spoke, Minerva absentmindedly picked up one of Sally's folded pieces of parchment from the pile and unravelled it. Her words suddenly caught in her throat. In small, shaky writing covering the entire page, a single word had been written over and over.

_Charles_.

A sob escaped Minerva as she stared at the parchment in her hands. She took another piece from the pile and unfolded it. It was the same. Written at seemingly random angles and scrawled in every available yellowing gap was the name of Sally's husband.

Minerva looked up. Sally had stopped her task and was staring back at Minerva through her wide, empty eyes.

"I miss him too," Minerva whispered. She had barely had any time to mourn for her friends and had forced her grief down. She had time now, it seemed. Her tears spilled out of her as she thought about Charles; about Sally; about Blake. Her three best friends, destroyed.

Sally sat on the end of her bed simply watching Minerva weeping before her. She did not resume her task after that, but sat staring at the wall as though she was looking through a window with a view that she could not look away from. Minerva remained with her for a long time after her tears had subsided. She spoke to her of the good times the four friends had had together; of the Relocation Dome in their sixth year, of Dave, Charles' winged horse; of Sally and Charles' son, Charlie.

When Minerva left Sally's ward it was evening. The torches had been lit and there were fewer people bustling in and out of the rooms and corridors. Just as Minerva was about to enter her peaceful room, she heard her name called out to her. Turning, she found herself face to face with a wizard she recognised as one of Dumbledore's healers.

"I've been looking for you," he said in a high and scratchy voice. "I thought you'd like to know – Professor Dumbledore regained consciousness about two hours ago."

It was hard to say what Minerva felt as she watched the healer walk away. She did not feel joy at the news, but she was by no means distressed by it either. She was certainly surprised to have it sprung on her like that.

She stood in the corridor, torn between going to see him and going to bed. There was a time not long ago when there would not even have been a second choice. Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her and she walked the path to Dumbledore's room, not three doors away from her own.

His door was closed, and like her room there were no windows from the corridor into it, so Minerva did not know if he was alone. She hoped he was.

As she lifted the bronze latch on the wooded door she noticed that her hands were shaking. She suddenly realised how terrified she was of seeing him. This was a man whom she had loved with all her heart; whom she had given herself to; who knew every inch of her mind and body and soul. They had been a part of each other in ways that no other human had ever experienced.

Her hand froze on the handle. They had lived together for so long with such an immense power and connection between them. How is it possible for one to behave after that connection has been damaged and ripped away; after the feeling of love and yearning and pleasure is no longer there?

Minerva stood outside the room as though she was a statue. There would have been a time when Dumbledore would have known she was there; a time when she would feel his presence in the form of a pleasant tingle at the base of her neck. No more.

Minerva could hear her breathing quicken as her nervousness strengthened. Then, suddenly, the latch clicked and the door was pulled open.

The Minister for Magic stood opposite Minerva with a stunned look on his face. He took in sharp breaths as though he were about to speak several times but he seemed unable to find any words. Minerva simply stared at him. She could sense the relief emanating from him at Dumbledore's recovery.

In the end he simply lifted his hat briefly to acknowledge her and stepped past her, leaving the door open and giving Minerva a full view of the room before her.

Dumbledore was lying in his bed with his eyes closed, but his breathing was ragged and his fingers were continually clenching and unclenching. It was clear that he thought the Minister had left and that now he was alone. Minerva felt embarrassed at catching him at such a vulnerable moment, but she had experienced the pain she knew he must be feeling all over his body and knew that any effort to fight it was futile.

She took a silent step toward his bed. It was clear that the healers had only just bandaged his wounds. The bindings were clean and fresh. His beard had been quickly shaved in order to reach the cuts on his neck and chest.

A sudden burst of anger erupted inside Minerva. Why could she feel nothing? She knew she was supposed to feel _something_ for him – grief, relief that he was alive, terror that he could have died, overwhelmed at seeing him again. But all she could feel was fear at what would happen when he opened his eyes.

It didn't feel right. The void that had been left inside her was supposed to be full of the man before her. But instead it was a barren wasteland, burned down to the roots that used to be its life-force. She could not remember what it felt like to love him, but she remembered that she did love him. With all her heart and soul.

Her fists clenched as his did, though not through pain. Her anger was strengthening with every second that she looked at him and felt empty. With a final silent step she was by his bedside. She could see him more clearly now and noticed that he was twitching every now and then with the same sudden sharp pangs of pain Minerva had experienced.

Her eyes moved to his face and she watched as a tear slid down his temple into his hair. His breathing was not quietening and small gasps would often escape his lips. Minerva tried to think what she would do if there was something left inside her that felt for him; but she could not. There was nothing within her that would tell her.

Then, suddenly, a crack of blue was visible through a tiny slit under his eyelid. Then it was gone. It reappeared a second later. He was trying to open his eyes.

After a few moments – after Minerva knew he knew she was there – they were finally open. He looked at her with moist but empty eyes. Not in the same way Sally's had been empty through lack of recognition, but lack of any of the feeling he used to hold in them when he would look at her.

"Minerva," he said. His voice was hoarse and he winced as he spoke.

"It's better if you whisper." She spoke softly but she could feel her hands shaking with nerves.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.


	34. Divided

_**Divided**_

Sorry. What else was there to say? The word sounded too small to cover all that had past, but it was the simple truth. They were both sorry – for all of it.

"I know," Minerva said. "I –"

"I didn't know you were there with me until it was too late," Dumbledore said, and winced again from trying to force his voice through. He was clearly worse off than she had been when she had woken. She could already seen deep red stains leaking through his fresh bandages, and his face was pale and clammy.

"Albus, you must whisper, it hurts less," Minerva told him with a fleeting stab of annoyance; at what, she did not know. "I know you didn't know," she added, trying to calm her sudden obvious impatience.

There was an awkward pause. Minerva did not know where to look. She could not bring herself to look into his eyes. She didn't like the feeling that the emptiness he held in them gave her; the feeling of indifference. There was a loose thread at the edge of his blanket. Her eyes rested on that instead and she broke the silence.

"You should have told me what you were doing."

"It was too late anyway," Dumbledore whispered. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him look away from her. "Lee told me he spoke to you," he continued. "The _engulfment_ had already begun. The Disunion had become even more unpredictable."

"Yes, he told me," she replied coldly. She hated the detached way in which they were both speaking. They were talking about the Disunion as though it was an uninteresting piece of news.

Another uncomfortable silence surrounded them. Neither knew what to say to the other. Minerva could not reach out and touch his hand. The need for the touch was not there as it should have been, and Dumbledore knew it too.

She felt irritated and found that there were many reasons why. The awkwardness between them was torturous simply because it should not be so; the unmoving tone in which they were speaking to each other was sickening, and the lack of feeling inside Minerva was shattering. Knowing what she should feel but being unable to feel it was like stretching for an itch that she could not reach to scratch, but a thousand times worse. She looked down and absentmindedly rolled the loose thread from his blanket around her fingers.

"I should go," she said, suddenly breaking the long and unpleasant silence.

"Perhaps that is best," Dumbledore replied.

But Minerva did not move. She wanted to talk to him about the thoughts that had haunted her and held her captive for the past two weeks. Did he feel as though something had been ripped away from him too? Did he feel as though he was not whole? She wanted to know – she _needed_ to know how he felt.

She lifted her eyes from the loose thread that was longer than it had been a moment ago, to look into Dumbledore's face. He held her gaze steadily. Nothing past between them. He looked at her as though he was surveying a statue. What irritated her most, however, was that she did not care.

The silence lengthened and still Minerva made no move to go. She held his eyes as though willing him to speak. She wished he would. But he simply looked back at her. They both knew that everything that had past between them was still in their memories, but they also knew that neither could remember the feelings it gave them, and that thought was too overwhelming for them both.

The room was suddenly very still. Neither was weeping and the air between them cracked for it. Tears that should be falling were not given the order to. There was no grief in the room; only isolation, the one from the other. Minerva tried to remember the feeling his mere presence once gave her. She found it impossible.

"You are still here," Dumbledore whispered.

"Yes."

"You do not want to go?" he asked.

"I should."

"Then what is preventing you?"

"I have a question," she replied.

Dumbledore was silent; looking at her… waiting. Minerva breathed in, preparing herself to ask something that should not be difficult to say. He had told her of his feelings before. Perhaps the memory of that will help him confide in her now.

Another breath in; she still had not spoken. She could not. Without the feelings the bound them closely, without the comfort, how was it possible for her to ask him if he still felt whole?

"It can wait," she finally whispered. "You have not been awake for long and you've had many visitors already. I'm sorry to keep you."

Minerva abruptly turned from the bed and faced the door. It was in an air of confusion that she walked away, thinking that he must be feeling bemused by her behaviour, but also that he was probably grateful that she was leaving him in peace.

"Minerva?" she heard him whisper after her.

She turned, frowning. He was trying to turn his head towards her. He shouldn't. She knew it was painful, but she said nothing.

"Come back soon," he said, grimacing in pain. "We have a lot we need to discuss."

Minerva nodded stiffly and turned from him once again, feeling this time as though she was effortlessly turning her back on half of her life.

x x x

There was a knock on Minerva's door. She still remained in her closed, single room, even though the past few days her lacerations had shown great improvement. They had scabbed over, but not too stiffly thanks to the hospital strolls. She had an idea that the Minister, or at least a member of the Ministry of Magic, had intervened and allowed her the single room. Perhaps Horendus had said something about instability. She smiled bitterly to herself at the thought.

She had also noticed in the past few days that people had been treading very carefully around her. Since her visit to Dumbledore in fact. Perhaps they thought she might have been unhinged by the reunion.

Reunion.

The word seemed ironic now. Either way, she was glad of people tip-toeing around her. It gave her the time to think about how she would raise the awkward topic with Dumbledore now that talk with him apparently did not come easily.

"Professor McGonagall?" a high, scratchy voice said. It was Dumbledore's healer. Minerva looked up from the open book resting on her legs that she was not reading.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," he said automatically. "Professor Dumbledore has asked to see you."

He left quickly after that, clearly not wanting to linger in her room. Minerva stared at her now closed door. She knew that this moment would come but that did not make her any more prepared, despite the almost constant way her mind had ticked over it. How do you ask someone if they feel whole?

-

"I was wondering if you would come," Dumbledore said to her as she stood in front of the closed door. He was looking a little better. Some colour had returned to his cheeks at least, but he still looked uncomfortable. And he will for several weeks, Minerva thought to herself. She was about to speak when Dumbledore's voice interrupted, and what he said made any speech impossible for several seconds.

"I never would have wondered that before."

Minerva's eyes shot to his in her surprise. She had expected awkward small talk; an uncomfortable silence; unfeeling, disconnected glances; but certainly not such shocking directness.

She was nervous now. More nervous than she had been on entering his room. She was only grateful that he had been the one to bring about the difficult topic.

Finally she found her voice amongst her sudden uneven breathing.

"No," she whispered simply. "I remember."

Apparently, reaching her chosen topic did not absolve them from the awful silences. He had looked away from her and was staring at the ceiling above him as he lay in his bed. She did not move from her position by the door.

"Will you stand beside the bed, Minerva?" he asked. It seemed to her as though he was rather embarrassed to be asking such a question. He had clearly posed it because it was painful to turn his head.

She stepped quietly over to him, wincing once when a sharp twinge shot up her thigh. No matter how healed over her wounds appeared to be now, the pain still returned every so often. She reached his bedside and stood before him. Looking down she noticed that his blankets had been changed – the loose piece of thread was no longer there as a distraction for her.

"Are you ready to ask you question?" he asked.

For some reason, Minerva felt as though she was a student once again, talking to one of her professors.

"I'm not sure that you are ready to hear it," she replied, avoiding his question. She was decidedly not at all ready to ask him. She wondered whether she would ever be.

"Well, there is only one way to discover the answer to that," he said. His eyes moved steadily to look up at Minerva. He was waiting for her to speak. Preparing himself for the question she hoped he knew was coming. Her nervousness was making her stomach squirm. She took in a shaky but deep breath and looked back at him fixedly.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

It hadn't come out as she had intended. Her nerves were uncharacteristically getting the better of her.

"Well, I appear to be a little scratched," he replied, his mouth twitching at the corners.

Despite the seriousness of the question Minerva was supposed to ask, she gave a small smile herself, something she realised she had not done in weeks. It felt foreign to her lips, but it was a pleasant feeling. No one had yet felt it their responsibility to make light of her situation. Indeed who could apart from herself and a person who was worse off than she? Dumbledore's response did not feel facetious. On the contrary, his humour, she discovered, was very welcome.

However, Minerva needed to get back to the matter in hand. She felt they could not bring about the topic for a second time. Her smile faded and Dumbledore's followed on seeing her approaching seriousness. She looked away from him, back to the place where the loose thread should have been.

"I mean inside," she whispered uncomfortably. "How do you feel inside?"

When Dumbledore did not answer, Minerva looked back up at him. He lay in his bed and finally, _finally_, Minerva saw some emotion there, unmasked and real, not aimed at her, but showing the feelings within him.

He looked back at her in the moments before answering and she wondered how she looked to him. What did her own face show? Hope? Apprehension? Fear? Then his answer came, whispered into the air like a moth taking flight.

"Broken," he said.

Minerva was not sure what she felt first in the few moments after that single word was uttered. There was relief there, definitely, knowing that she was not alone in not feeling whole. And that relief was merged with painful anguish. His words had confirmed to her that something had indeed been taken from them, something that was theirs alone, something that no one else should ever have been able to touch. And at last, at long last, there was grief.

Dumbledore's eyes shone with tears and his face suddenly blurred as the moisture spilled into Minerva's eyes. They did not grieve for each other but for what was lost. Or was that the same thing? It hurt to think about, the complexity of exactly what had been lost to them was impossible to comprehend.

Minerva could not speak. She knew that they were saying goodbye. She lost her first tear, feeling it slip down her cheek. It was the hollow memories that caused the pain; the memories that stirred no emotion inside her because that part of her had been stripped away.

"Do you think it will always be like this?" Minerva whispered a few moments later, when she could finally speak again.

"Who can say?" Dumbledore answered as a tear tumbled over his temple, moistening his hair. "It has never happened before."

She had so many questions about what he was feeling, but it was hard to voice them. And not only that, but also questions about the aftermath. What had happened to Kalypto? Was Lee still working on the project? How many people knew what had happened? What had been happening at Hogwarts in the near three months that they had been gone?

But Minerva could see that Dumbledore's eyes were getting heavy. She remembered how much sleep she had had in those first two weeks after she had woken; how tired she had felt then. She could see that he was trying to stay awake, but she would not persist in her questions on her account. There was time enough now.

She took a step closer to him and rested her hands on his mattress near his pillow. She slowly moved her head down towards his, controlling her grimace as her cuts seared with pain. A tear fell onto his face from her eyes, then another. Her lips touched his forehead, a kiss such as he had given her so many times before. But this was not a kiss given out of love. It was full of sorrow and farewell.

Her lips lingered a while against his skin, knowing that this was the final kiss she would ever offer to him. Another tear dropped from her lashes and rolled into his eye. Neither witnessed the jet black colour of which it was made. It glided across the film of Dumbledore's eye and vanished.

Minerva lifted her head and Dumbledore stared up at her.

"Get some sleep," she whispered.

She turned and exited the room. Her tears fell harder than ever as she stepped into the corridor and heard his door click shut behind her.


	35. The Night Time Visit

_**The Night Time Visit**_

It was dark. Very dark. And silent. So much so that for all Minerva knew she was not safely in her bed in St. Mungo's but in some godforsaken place, isolated from the rest of the world.

Her hand clenched tighter around her wand. She had taken to keeping it by her side at night. She did not know why; nothing had changed since she had been in the hospital, but for some reason she had recently grown nervous in the silence that falls with night, and her wand was a comfort to her.

A rustling noise suddenly disturbed the silence, like the sound of a scrunched up ball of parchment slowly unravelling itself, and Minerva stiffened in her bed. She had never been scared of the dark before. On the contrary, she usually found it peaceful, but tonight it was unnerving. It was as though the room was holding its breath, waiting for something to leap out of the darkness.

Fear gripped her. It was an utterly irrational fear and one that annoyed Minerva beyond words, but she finally admitted to herself something that she did not think she was capable of – she was too scared to be alone tonight.

Her first thought was to go to Sally, but that ward was always locked. There was no way of entering without the permission of the matron on duty. That left only one other person…

-

"Minerva?"

His voice came as a whisper through the darkness, a voice she had not heard for several days.

"I'm sorry," she said with great embarrassment. "Did I wake you?"

"No," answered Dumbledore.

She vaguely wondered why. Silence fell over them; something that they were both accustomed to now, but that did not make the atmosphere around them any more relaxed. Dumbledore spoke when he realised that Minerva was not going to respond.

"Might I ask –"

"I'd rather you didn't," she said quickly. She did not want to explain to Dumbledore the childish reason for her needing his company tonight.

Dumbledore said nothing in response. Minerva could just make out the light from his eyes glinting in her direction. His room was marginally lighter than hers, but she could not work out how, or where the dim light was coming from.

"May I…?" She left her question lingering in the air as she indicated towards the chair by his bed.

"Of course," he replied with little certainty. He must wonder what she was doing there. _He never would have wondered that before_. The words rang familiarly in her mind. She sat in the armchair by his bed and curled her legs up beneath her.

"Do you want to talk?" he asked, letting her know his confusion at her unexpected presence so late in the night.

"No," she whispered in return and offered him no more than that.

A pause; then, "Would you like a blanket? You must be cold."

Dumbledore did not wait for an answer but picked up his wand from his bedside table (quite inelegantly due to the pain from his wounds) and summoned the top blanket from a small pile at the other side of the room. It unfolded in the air and dropped over Minerva's form like liquid.

"Thank you," she said softly.

The room fell quiet again, just as it always did these days. After a while Minerva could hear Dumbledore's breathing gradually become slower and deeper and she discovered she found it soothing to listen to. Her eyes began to close as his breathing eased her into a calm slumber.

-

Minerva stirred. She was uncomfortable. Her neck ached, not from her wound but an altogether different pain. She had slept awkwardly. There were pins and needles in her right arm which her body had rolled on top of at some point in the night.

She opened her eyes, confused for a moment about where she was. Then she saw Dumbledore. He lay sleeping in the bed nearby and she remembered her absurd fear of the silent darkness not five hours earlier. It seemed so silly now. What was there to be afraid of? She was in a hospital surrounded by people.

She brushed her hair out of her eyes and began to continually clench and unclench her half-numb, prickling fist. When the final tingle had vanished Minerva made to get out of her chair. She turned to the bed just before she did so, however, and saw that Dumbledore had woken and that he was watching her.

"Are you leaving?" he whispered hoarsely.

Minerva nodded. "I'm sorry I disturbed you last night," she said, standing.

"Think nothing of it," he replied. Then he said something that surprised Minerva into complete stillness: "I'd like you to stay."

Minerva regarded his face to see if he held any jest in his features. It was not funny, even if it was supposed to be. Nothing. His face was as empty of feeling as it always was when he looked at her now.

"Is that so terrible?" he asked when she did not speak.

"No," she replied apprehensively, "of course not."

She sat back down on the edge of the armchair, not at all comfortable with how the situation was playing out.

"Kalypto is missing," Dumbledore said after a few quiet seconds.

Minerva frowned at this sudden piece of information. She looked at him but his eyes were turned away from her now.

"She never returned to her cottage after the Disunion," he added.

"Where do you think she is?" Minerva asked tentatively. She never quite understood Dumbledore's relationship with the witch who had destroyed their connection.

"I don't know," he replied quietly. "But I fear that she overestimated herself."

"What do you mean?" Minerva asked confused. He was still not looking at her.

"I do not think she was capable of carrying out the task assigned to her; emotionally, I mean. No matter how strong she thought herself to be."

He was silent after that and it allowed Minerva time to think back, as much as she hated to, to the memories she still held of the Disunion – Kalypto's face; the shock that had been present when she discovered that Minerva was partly there too; the way she realised that she had effectively cut into the hearts of two people so deeply connected and sliced them to pieces.

"She realised, didn't she?" Minerva whispered into the silence. "In the end."

Dumbledore nodded painfully.

"She always knew that what she was doing was wrong," Dumbledore informed Minerva. "I think it was only in the last few moments that she realised just how much."

Dumbledore turned his face to her now and Minerva saw the silent tears that fell from his eyes. She thought that he mourned for Kalypto – for her redemption; for her lack of courage to face them now, but his next words proved her to be very wrong.

"She tore us apart, Minerva."

Unseen by either, a single, jet black tear fell from his eye and departed from the salty, transparent ones as it rose off Dumbledore's face. It floated undetected into air between them and sort Minerva's eye. She blinked and noticed nothing as the tear washed over the surface of her eye and disappeared.

Minerva looked down at Dumbledore and saw his struggle to stem the flow of his tears. With a jolt to her stomach she realised that this was the least uncomfortable conversation they had had since they had awoken from the Disunion, but probably the one that should have been the hardest. She had a sudden urge to reach out and take his hand, an urge she had not felt when she first saw him in the hospital.

Her hand started to move but she thought better of it. It was too late – Dumbledore had seen. He looked at her hand regretfully.

"You don't have to," he said understandingly.

"I'm sorry," she replied, inwardly chastising herself for hesitating. "It feels…"

What? How could she possibly describe the empty space inside her that had been caused by his loss, not really caring about it, half-heartedly wanting it and despising it at the same time? There were no words for it.

"I know," Dumbledore said, looking away from her and up at his ceiling. This view seemed to offer him comfort, not just because of the pain in his neck but also because of its use as a focal point when he did not want to meet her eyes.

"I should go," Minerva whispered. "I have a check up this morning."

His eyes flicked back to her. It seemed as though he was about to say something but at the last moment thought better of it. Instead he nodded. He didn't look away this time.

She turned, and as she moved from his bed her fingers brushed the back of his hand. The contact was strange. It barely registered with either – not at all like it used to – but something lingered for several moments after. The sensation of the touch remained on her fingers like a persistent, yet subtle echo.


	36. Wish

_**Wish**_

_July 1978  
__About three months later_

Minerva sat at the staffroom table rolling her quill between her fingers. She could not concentrate. The final lesson of the day had ended half an hour ago and the tedious agendas in the afternoon staff meeting were certainly not enrapturing.

Her day had not started off well as it was. She had been jolted awake by a nasty twinge across the long, red and whitening scar on her back, which had made her back arch and her eyes water with pain. Then, throughout the morning, the other scars had decided to join in the little game of torture and had stabbed across her skin at consecutive intervals for the rest of the day.

This ceaseless, not to mention painful, nuisance had put her in a fabulously irritable mood and she noticed that the staff as well as the students had been giving her a wide berth; a reaction all too familiar since her return to the school. Dumbledore and Minerva's secrecy and apparent disregard of the nature of their visit to St. Mungo's had put the staff in a state of discomfort and unease. They were either too nervous to be around them or else hurt that neither Dumbledore nor Minerva were confiding in them.

The final bell came as something of a relief to both Minerva and her students and the one thing that Minerva had been trying to prevent herself from thinking about all day was the only thing her mind would rest on – it had been four months; four whole months since she had awoken from the trauma of the Disunion.

As she sat at the table in the staffroom, staring through the parchment upon it, she kept playing the events of the few weeks after she had regained consciousness over and over in her mind.

She had seen Dumbledore barely twice more during her stay at St. Mungo's. It had been Horendus who had given her the information she had wanted to know. He had informed her that the project was closed, though whether or not Minerva believed him was an altogether different matter – he had asked an awful lot questions on behalf of said 'completed' project. Minerva despised his dishonesty. He had shown his lack of morality simply by creating the project in the first place.

Horendus' last visit to her had come as something of a surprise when he burst through the door, his eyes wide and his face burning red beneath his long black hair and beard.

"You have not been honest with me, Professor McGonagall!" he had raged. Minerva had looked calmly up at him, though her surprise at his abrupt entrance was present in the racing of her heart.

She had remained silent while Horendus had marched to her bedside looking as though his head was about to zoom off his neck.

"You told me that _productum intumesco_ had taken place."

Minerva frowned at him.

"It had," she had replied in her usual whisper.

"Yes, I know that!" Horendus had said with biting impatience. "But after, _after_," he continued. "What happened then? You failed to mention that rather gigantic detail."

Minerva had felt her irritation rise. How dare he speak to her like that when it was he who had caused this disaster in the first place? _Created_ it. He looked wild, mad even, quite unlike his usual self.

"I was in rather a hurry when I spoke to you at the Ministry, in case you fail to remember," she had replied coldly. "Or have the events of that night completely evaporated from your mind? I assure you they are not leaving my memory any time soon."

Was it a pang of guilt she had witnessed in his eyes? Whatever it was it had past quickly.

"Listen," he had replied, far too venomously for Minerva's liking. She had glared at him dangerously, causing Horendus to stumble in the progression of his speech. She looked away from him after a few seconds, allowing him time to recover himself, and he was much calmer when he spoke next.

"I've just spoken to Dumbledore," he had said. "Something happened to you after _productum intumesco_ occurred, didn't it?"

Minerva had thought back to that night, to the short moments in the Hogwarts grounds after _productum intumesco_. It was not easy to forget it. The fear on Poppy Pomphrey's face was still a vivid image in her mind. The encroaching blackness and silence that had then surrounded and finally encompassed Minerva and Dumbledore had been terrifying.

She had recollected Dumbledore's calm words to Poppy, telling her there was nothing to be afraid of, and she had remembered how Dumbledore's figure had slowly reappeared out of the total darkness that had encased them. He had been calm, but that was before the pain had hit them both. It had felt as though someone was wringing out her chest with fingers sharp as knives. Then her throat had constricted so that no air could break through.

Dumbledore's touch had saved them both that night. A touch that had meant far more then than it did now, in so many ways. But then he had disappeared – absorbed into the blackness that had entombed them. She had lost her grip on him.

Then there was Poppy's account of the incident. Why had it been so completely different to what Minerva and Dumbledore had seen? She had described droplets from their eyes, black – the colour of doxycide, she had said – floating between them; Dumbledore's tears drifting into Minerva's eyes and hers into his. Neither Dumbledore nor Minerva had been able to recollect any of this.

But why should Horendus mention it now? she had thought.

"I thought that that was just a part of _productum intumesco_ that you had not predicted," Minerva had replied, confused. That was what Dumbledore had assumed anyway. But then again, that was before either of them knew that Horendus had created _productum intumesco_ as the Department of Mystery's warning signal. Horendus ignored her.

"I understand that it was witnessed by another; Pompey… Pom… Pom… something, no matter, who saw differently to what you and Dumbledore claim happened, is that correct?"

The way he talked to her and the way he spoke about Poppy had rankled Minerva. He had even dared to speak to her of Dumbledore; something she thought outrageously distasteful given the matter of the project.

She had given him a curt nod as if daring him to insult her further. It had hurt her neck but she bared it no mind. She was furious with the man who stood before her.

"And what she saw she claimed to be some black substance passing between the two of you?" Horendus had continued.

Another nod. Minerva had winced that time and was furious with herself. Horendus, on the other hand, had clapped his hands together and a sudden mad burst of laughter had erupted from his lips.

That was it; nothing more. He had not said a word after that and had left the room abruptly.

Since that time, no one had been able to locate him, not even Dumbledore who was just as frustrated and in the dark about Horendus' behaviour as Minerva was. And now not a soul knew where Horendus was. Minerva did have her suspicions, though – Kalypto was still missing too.

The ink from Minerva's quill dripped and blotted onto her piece of parchment that rested on the staffroom table, but it went unnoticed by Minerva. She was still absorbed in her thoughts. The past few months had been strange and indistinct. She and Dumbledore had led divided lives with all the memories of a united one. The awkwardness had gradually faded and been replaced with pleasant silences in which they could both work undistracted.

But something had been creeping up on them silently, barely discernible. Minerva had felt it stir inside of her, moving gradually into her conscious mind only in the last few days until she had become fully aware of its presence. It felt as though something had been left undone, like the feeling that occurs when you leave a place thinking you have left something behind which you desperately need, but cannot for the life of you think what it could be.

"What do you think, Minerva?"

She heard the words, but only vaguely. They past her ears but seemed to bypass her brain. She continued to unconsciously roll the quill between her fingers, her mind still playing over the last few months of her life.

"Minerva?"

Her name was spoken louder and this time it registered. She tore her eyes away from whatever it was that she had not been looking at.

"Pardon?" she said.

It had been Professor Sprout who had spoken, one of the newest members of the Hogwarts teaching staff. She had been assigned the post of Herbology teacher when there had been a reshuffle of positions while Dumbledore and Minerva had been away. Minerva liked her a lot. She was enthusiastic and had a very direct manner and approach to things. Unfortunately, that was not so desirable a trait at this moment.

"Oh for heaven's sake, what do _you_ think, Dumbledore?" Professor Sprout asked forcefully.

No reply came from the end of the table where Dumbledore was sat staring into the fire in the grate on the other side of the room.

"Dumbledore!" Professor Sprout exclaimed.

Dumbledore slowly turned his attention back to his staff.

"I beg you pardon?" he said innocently.

"Oh! Haven't either of you been listening to a word I've been saying?" Professor Sprout asked in exasperation.

Minerva's chest gave a lurch that had nothing to do with her guilt at the annoyance in Professor Sprout's voice, nor with the red raw scar that ran the width of her chest. It felt vaguely familiar, though she could not place the sensation it left her with.

"Excuse me," Minerva said, and to the surprise of the Hogwarts staff she abruptly rose from her seat and left the room.

The cool of the corridor was pleasant on her face. Once she had closed the door behind her, Minerva picked up her pace and walked the corridors that would take her to the grounds of Hogwarts. It was a clear afternoon and she craved the warm fresh air in her lungs.

What was the matter with her? She had not been feeling herself all day, and now, to make matters worse, people would be asking her why she had left the meeting; a meeting that she was usually very vocal in. And what could she tell them? She herself had no idea why she left.

Her heel snapped loudly on the floor as she took her first step into the marble entrance hall. Then a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"What is it you're trying so hard not to give away?"

Dumbledore had followed her. Her footsteps fell silent and she heard him walk towards her from the corridor through which she had just come.

A sudden flash of anger overwhelmed any other emotion as Minerva stood in the entrance hall facing away from the man who was approaching. His assumption was alarmingly accurate. Minerva's world had been dislodged ever since the Disunion. Nothing was the same. It felt as though she was living her life through the eyes of a stranger, not knowing what she was feeling. She was holding it all in; her grief, her loss, her confusion. She had been getting used to the mask she had been wearing since she awoke in the hospital.

She had been forcing this anger down for the better part of the last few months and it had suddenly retaliated at his words. She could not speak for fear that it would burst out of her and strike the man who drew nearer.

She could not explain why her fury at him wanted to break the surface so suddenly after all this time. He had done what he had thought best – by carrying out the Disunion instead of her he had tried to save her from the pain he knew she would suffer. What was to say that Minerva would not have done the same if she had known how? After all, had they not agreed that the Disunion would be the best for both of them? Had she not argued _for_ it?

But that was all before she knew what it felt like to be cut in two; to live her life only as half of herself.

She saw him out of the corner of her eye as he stepped around her. She looked up. Her chest lurched as if something was moving around inside it, trying to escape.

Minerva felt weighed down. The pain her scars had caused her today, these new and unfamiliar emotions that had been stirring inside her through the last few days, her flash of anger that had erupted silently only moments before, and this new discomfort in her chest all suddenly became too much. Tears leaked uncontrollably from her eyes. She saw Dumbledore's face contort with concern just before she felt his arms around her, pulling her tightly to him, resting her head where it used to fit so comfortably in the depression beneath his collarbone.

Minerva's breaths came in gasps and she could feel her chest and back heaving with her sobs. Dumbledore said nothing. He simply held her calmly for several long moments until she regained control.

"I think you have answered my question," he said softly into her ear.

Minerva pulled gently away from him, avoiding his eyes and wiping her wet cheeks with her fingers.

"I hate this," she whispered faintly. "Everything feels off balance and… distorted. I wish –"

Minerva throat caught her words just in time. She could not believe what she was about to say. The thought had never crossed her mind, so why should the words be so ready and comfortable on her lips? Dumbledore was looking at her and her stomach tightened with unease – he was going to ask her what she was going to say.

"You wish what?" he said, as expected.

"Never mind," Minerva replied, a little too quickly.

"You wish what, Minerva?" Dumbledore persisted.

She looked up at him with red eyes and blemished cheeks, and saw him looking back at her in bewilderment. Why had she not realised that what she was about to say had been what she had been feeling for so long? Why had she not been able to identify it?

"Tell me, please," Dumbledore whispered.

His plea gave her confidence. It was as though he wanted confirmation about something and Minerva was the only person who would – or could – offer it. Could it be that he felt the same way? There was only one way that she would find out.

She held his eyes with hers, building the composure that threatened to topple once again at any moment. She breathed in slowly and shakily, willing herself to speak the words that had been a rude awakening to her in the last few seconds.

The words that came from her lips were the first words she had spoken that came sincerely from her and not from the stranger whose life she was living. They were quiet but the meaning behind them was deafening – something must be changing between them for her to wish this at all.

"I wish," she began quietly, but faltered. She took a deep breath and made another attempt. "I wish I still loved you."

She could feel her cheeks colouring. It was an uncomfortable moment for her to reveal such a personal feeling to a man with whom she felt no connection. To her surprise, however, Dumbledore smiled. But it was a smile filled with sadness and regret.

"I am glad you said that," he told her. "And, for any difference it might make, I feel it too".

Minerva returned his sad smile.

"Thank you," she said.

A sudden noise at the open window above them interrupted the peace of the entrance hall and a large brown owl fluttered through clutching a tatty, rolled up piece of parchment. Minerva and Dumbledore followed it with their eyes as it flew down to Dumbledore, who then held up his arm. The owl landed smoothly upon it, its claws holding on tightly to his robes.

Dumbledore took the parchment from the owl with a frown and before he'd finished unrolling it, the owl flew off, back through the window.

Minerva saw Dumbledore's eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he read what seemed to be a remarkably short letter. Then, to her astonishment, he handed the parchment to her.

Minerva took it, not looking away from him until he nodded to the letter in her hands, letting her know that it really was all right for her to read it. She looked down and her surprised matched Dumbledore's as she read:

_We are at the gates. You must let us in. URGENT! Lee_


	37. A Touch of Magic

_**A Touch of Magic**_

The summer air was warm on their faces as Dumbledore and Minerva stepped hurriedly out of the castle and made their way down the stone front steps. The grass was spongy beneath their feet from recent rain that had soaked the lawns and softened them.

Neither said a word as they hastened towards the huge gates that sat between the two pillars topped with winged boars at the boundary of the castle grounds. As they moved closer, Minerva saw Horendus's black hair and beard blowing slightly in the warm summer breeze. Next to him was the woman Minerva thought she would never see again, but either from force or some ulterior motive, Kalypto stood by Horendus' side, her shrouded figure unmistakable behind the iron bars.

Dumbledore spoke first with enough vehemence to surprise even Minerva, who had to make a conscious effort to prevent her eyes shooting an astonished glance at him.

"You are not welcome here, Lee."

He spoke through the railings that were padlocked together; the chains of the lock hung heavily over the bars between the four figures, a clear sign of the divide between them.

"I know, Dumbledore, and I understand," Lee said, holding up his hands.

Minerva saw that he held his wand tightly beneath the coiled fingers of his right hand. She smirked unkindly at the idea that Horendus thought he could protect himself against Dumbledore if it was ever to come to that.

"Just hear what we have to say and then you can decide whether or not you want to be rid of us."

Dumbledore was silent. Minerva knew that if he had not intended to let Horendus into Hogwarts he would never have made the effort to greet him at the gates, so deep was his fury with him.

However, as Horendus was the only person who had any control over the project – though not very much judging by past events – Dumbledore had little choice but to invite him to divulge his mysterious news. Minerva suspected, however, that Dumbledore, like her, had enough curiosity in him to _want_ to know what Horendus had to say without the need for Horendus's persuasion. She also knew that Dumbledore had questions for Horendus, as she herself did, such as why had he been so interested in Poppy and the aftermath of _productum intumesco_? After all, worse had happened since then.

Dumbledore took his wand from the pockets of his robes and for the briefest moment Minerva thought she saw a flash of fear in Horendus' eyes. Judging by his next words, Dumbledore had witnessed it as well.

"Come now, Lee. You aren't afraid of me, are you?" he said gently.

Dumbledore moved his wand and tapped the padlock on the gates. The chains twisted backwards leaving Horendus and Kalypto with uninhibited entry into the Hogwarts grounds.

Minerva turned away from the couple as they were about to enter and began making her way back up to the castle. She would have waited for them, but the sight of Horendus disgusted her and Kalypto still had the ability to make Minerva feel disconcerted. And, to add further discomfort, Kalypto, like Minerva, had yet to speak a single word.

Minerva heard the gates behind her scream in protest and then clatter loudly as they closed, locking the four of them in the grounds with tension mounting so high that Minerva would not have been surprised if the air shook with it.

"My students are soon to be having their dinner," Minerva heard Dumbledore say from somewhere behind her. "Whatever your business is here it must be dealt with quickly and with subtlety, am I clear?"

"I will do my best," Horendus said. Minerva did not like this answer; it did not give any confirmation that he would comply with Dumbledore's request and it unnerved her.

As they neared the entrance doors of Hogwarts, Minerva's chest gave a lurch much the same as it had earlier in the staffroom. A quiet noise of surprise and discomfort escaped her lips but no one seemed to hear. The fleeting glance between Horendus and Kalypto and a brief nod of the head of the former past by undetected.

Minerva reached the entrance hall before the others. The feeling in her chest was not reducing as it had earlier and she began to feel sick with it. There was strange pressure pushing its way up her chest to the back of her throat, growing higher and higher by the second. She turned to face the doors she had just come through and, just as she did, her nausea increased.

In an attempt to conceal her sudden sickness she straightened her back more than usual and clenched her jaws, fighting down the queasiness.

Dumbledore came through the doors first, closely followed by Horendus who had acquired an expression of tension since Minerva last looked at him through the bars of the gate. It was only after Kalypto walked through the doors that Minerva heard it – an unbearable, shrill whispering was filling the hall.

Minerva felt her skin grow hot and break out into a sweat, the beads running down her temples and down her back. She looked at Dumbledore to see if he had noticed anything, but he was looking away from her and she could not see his face.

The pressure at her throat grew higher, pushing up further into her head causing her vision to blur with the force.

"NO!"

The single word was cast over the hall from the deep tones of a desperate voice; Dumbledore's voice.

"You gave me your word," he cried.

His voice echoed in Minerva's ears, but she couldn't concentrate on his meaning for long – the pressure inside her was growing as if air was being pumped into her faster and faster and with no means of escape. Her voice would not work because of the force around her throat, and the fast increasing feeling of nausea prevented her from attempting any speech.

Her vision was rapidly growing dim from the pressure behind her eyes; shadows of the people before her were looming darkly out of a grey light that was surrounding them all. She saw Dumbledore turn to her but could not make out the features in his face. Then he stumbled. The horrible whispering grew louder in Minerva's ears so that it was almost the only thing she could concentrate on. Then a distant voice punctured the sound.

"Right, help me get them in here."

Minerva felt someone grip her arm tightly. She lifted her free arm weakly in an attempt to brush the hand away, but achieved nothing. She was becoming disoriented, as though she was intoxicated; and with every second that her vision failed her she could feel her body become weaker. The whispering was flooding her mind.

Whoever had hold of her pulled her across the room. She went up no steps as far as she knew, and her journey was short.

"Lay them down here," came the distant voice again through the terrible whispers. "We have to hurry. The students will be coming to dinner soon."

Minerva was manoeuvred roughly onto a hard surface of what she assumed was one of the tables in the Great Hall. Her vision was still blurred and she couldn't make out where Dumbledore was.

She tried to lift her head to see what she could of what was happening, but it had become heavy. She felt drugged, desperate to move, but too dizzy and weighed down to be capable of barely any movement.

The nausea was still very present at the back of her throat but the feeling had moved forwards and was now making her lips tingle unpleasantly. Minerva had no idea what was happening, and the fear that gripped her was the only thing that forced her to keep her eyes open, attempt to lift her head, and try to concentrate.

The dizzying images before her were distorted shadows in a dull background. The evening light from the Great Hall's high windows was only grey to Minerva's eyes and it cast fuzzy black shadows from every object in the room.

Her head grew heavier and she had no choice but to rest it back on the table top. Her breathing was fast with the effort it had taken to lift her head, and she could hear the rushing of air loudly in her ears. Then a sudden jolt went through her – that was all she could hear. The whispers had stopped. Everything around her was silent.

An involuntary moan broke away from her and she silenced it immediately as a fresh wave of sickness washed over her. Then Kalypto's harsh voice stabbed through the room.

"It is not working," she said, almost indifferently. "You were confident it would work. Why is it not? Look at them."

"I know, I know," Horendus replied hurriedly. "There must be something we have missed. I was positive this would work."

Minerva could hear the anxiety building in Horendus' voice. He had no idea what he had done – what he was doing. But Minerva knew. Or at least she knew how to overcome it. She didn't know how, but somehow she knew. It was simple. Why didn't they see it?

"We cannot keep them like this," Kalypto said deeply and harshly. "Reverse it."

"I can't," Horendus replied desperately. "It might… it might –"

"It will kill them if we leave them like this." The scratch to Kalypto's voice grew harder but she sounded calm. "Reverse it!"

"I can't," Horendus replied.

"You must!"

"No, you don't understand. I really _can't_!"

Silence.

Panic rose in Minerva at Horendus's words, and as it rose the pressure inside her increased. It throbbed behind her eyes making them feel as though they would be forced out of their sockets at any moment. She wished she could speak, wished she could tell them how to make the pressure stop. All she needed was Dumbledore.

But then words from Kalypto, which Minerva most certainly did not want to hear, carried across the room:

"You cannot leave."

Horendus was fleeing. Kalypto's voice did not quite conceal the shock she felt.

"This cannot be fixed, Kalypto," Horendus said frantically. "We must leave now."

"They cannot be left like this," Kalypto replied calmly.

"What do you mean?" Horendus asked with obvious surprise. "You said yourself that if it did not work then death would be preferable for them. It has not worked! So death it is."

"You are a coward," she said harshly. "Look at them. Look at what you have done to them."

"I?" Horendus said. "What have I done that you cannot also be blamed for? I did not do this alone, Kalypto."

Minerva could feel her pulse beating painfully behind her eyes. Her chest was full and her throat was thick with strain. She needed her voice. She had to tell them how to stop this. There was a sudden loud bang in the distance. Horendus panicked at the noise.

"We must leave, Kalypto. Now! Come with me."

"No."

Her voice had grown louder in Minerva's ears. She had moved closer to her, away from the door. At another time Minerva may have felt a respect for Kalypto that she would have never predicted, but at that moment her vision shivered before her dreadfully, and so her efforts were concentrated on controlling her nausea.

"Then their deaths are in your hands, Kalypto. I am sure the dementors at Azkaban will not know what to make of you. I wish them luck."

And with that, he was gone. Minerva vaguely heard his footsteps echoing through the empty entrance hall beyond. She was still breathing heavily when she felt pressure on her wrist. Kalypto was gripping her tightly, feeling her pulse. Then she moved away. Was she going towards Dumbledore? Minerva had to force down the pressure that was still building up inside her and try to regain her voice. It was imperative.

With all the energy she had, she took a deep breath and released it in a quiet moan. All noise of Kalypto's movements suddenly stopped, and then Minerva heard her hurry towards her and saw the dark shadow of Kalypto's figure as she loomed over the table.

"Professor McGonagall?" she said coarsely.

Minerva slowly took another deep breath and this time tried to speak. With the breath that escaped her in a rush she managed to exhale a word.

"Hand," she said.

She felt Kalypto's cold hand on her own. Frustration suddenly erupted inside her. She lifted her head and breathed in deeply.

"No." The word came from her lips in a gush of air. Another deep breath. "_His_"

Her head fell back onto the table, hard. Her energy had gone. She had no more speech left in her. She felt Kalypto's hand leave hers and gave a silent hope that Kalypto had understood what she meant.

Minerva's breaths were loud in her ear again and her vision had worsened and now was almost completely black. Fear was shooting through her veins. _If it does not work then death would be preferable_. Minerva could not begin to imagine what uncertainty she was facing.

Suddenly a cold hand grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled. Minerva's arm was jerked forcefully away and her shoulder cracked with the movement. Her fingers were shoved forcefully against something warm. Dumbledore's hand gripped hers weakly.

She felt the effects immediately. The pressure inside her chest begin to diminish; her breathing slowed; her nausea faded. Only one thing remained, and that was the terrible force behind her eyes.

She felt her strength grow and she echoed Dumbledore's hold on her hand by clasping his tightly in return. As she stared up at the ceiling, breathing calmly but heavily, she saw the light of the enchanted ceiling begin to steadily seep through the shadows of her vision. A pink and blue sky revealed itself slowly, breaking apart the shadows as they faded away.

Minerva lay silently for several moments, watching the colours return to her senses and feeling her energy flood back into her. Something felt different. Something had changed inside her. The pressure in her chest had gone completely now, but that was not all. The feeling she had felt for so long – the feeling that something was missing, that she had left something behind somewhere – was gone too. Something had taken its place; or rather something had been returned to her.

The pressure of Dumbledore's hand was strong against hers now. She blinked and turned her head. He was lying alongside her, his mouth open slightly from his shortness of breath. His eyes were bright as he looked back at her; bright with utter amazement, but also with something Minerva had not seen in them for a long time.

A callous voice interrupted her thoughts.

"I have waited a long time. Now I have seen them. I have seen what he has not."

Minerva was startled by Kalypto's heavy breathing as she spoke. Both she and Dumbledore turned to her as she spoke again.

"The Droplets of the Soul."


	38. Droplets of the Soul

_**Droplets of the Soul**_

Minerva's hands were shaking. She could see the ripples in her tea as she held the full cup between her fingers. Kalypto had helped her and Dumbledore get up from the tables and out of the Great Hall just before the students descended for dinner. They would all be in there now, waiting for their headmaster and deputy headmistress to join them, innocent to what had just taken place in that very room.

They had been in Dumbledore's office for a full ten minutes and still no one had spoken. Kalypto was standing by the chimney breast in an alcove that was not lit by the fire. Dumbledore was standing by the window at the back of his office looking out over his school grounds with thoughts unknown to Minerva rushing through his mind.

Minerva was perching on the edge of Dumbledore's desk. She vaguely thought about putting her cup on his work surface and hiding her shaking hands from view, but the hot drink was warming her cold fingers.

Dumbledore's clock that had once been in the transfiguration classroom seemed to be ticking louder than usual. The fire was hissing in the grate and the quiet sound of a calm wind outside could be heard against the windows. It seemed strange that no one was speaking. Minerva thought she knew the reason why Dumbledore was not – the same reason she herself had not said a word: fear that what had happened would not be what she was hoping.

Strange feelings were bubbling up inside Minerva. There was a kind of urgency in her that wanted Kalypto out of the room. She wanted to turn to Dumbledore. To see in his eyes what she thought she had seen in the Great Hall not half an hour ago. She wanted his reassurance, his attention. She wanted him.

There was a soft noise behind her as Dumbledore turned and his robes whispered over the floor. Minerva did not look round but stared into her cup. Now it had come to it, she found she could not turn to him. What if the look in his eyes proved her memory false? What if she was mistaken?

Out of the corner of her eye she watched Dumbledore walk past her and further into the centre of his office. Her hands would not be still no matter how hard she willed them to be. She looked down at the quivering liquid in her cup. She could think of nothing but Dumbledore. Then, finally, he spoke.

"I am ready to hear what you have to say, Kalypto."

His voice was quiet, uncertain almost. Was he really ready? Minerva thought, as she took in his hesitant tones.

"Minerva," he continued with equal softness.

Minerva clenched her teeth and slowly raised her eyes to him. She was nervous. She could feel her shaky breaths matching the tremors in her hands and stomach. Dumbledore's eyes gave away no emotion. He looked at her calmly, as if he was making up for her obvious nervousness.

"Are you prepared to hear this?"

Minerva nodded. Dumbledore gave her the smallest of smiles in what she presumed was an attempt to reassure her. He turned back to Kalypto who had stepped forward, her thin black veil floating around her figure. He stood a little way in front of his desk, his hands by his sides. Each line on his skin was so familiar to Minerva. The number of times she had held those hands; the number of times they had touched her, stroked her, fought for her, was incalculable.

Kalypto took another step forward out of the shadows and stood before them now, ready to reveal the secrets that had been kept from Dumbledore and Minerva for so long. She seemed to regard them both for several seconds before her rough, low voice cut through the air.

"The ties that bind us are mysterious," she began. "The project, the mission to discover what these connections are and how they work, was never supposed to go this far. Nature must be observed but never exposed unnaturally; _never_ be tampered with. We did both.

"I am no witch. My people are Searches of Souls and our race is dying. We are called the Tego. There are writings, ancient texts of the Tegii who have looked upon souls and been enlightened. They have reached the higher plain. That is our purpose. It is our end.

"Lee never knew what I was. It did not concern him how I saw your bond, only that I could. I revealed to him what the ancient manuscripts say about the soul. I told him how it has been described by my forefathers, though I never told him my source. It was only after he heard about the events after _productum intumesco_ that he became interested in what I had to say.

Minerva's heart was beating fast against her rib cage. Kalypto's words had her transfixed. She could not believe what she was hearing. Their _souls_? The Tegii? She felt no shock upon hearing that Kalypto was not a witch. She thought back and realised that she had never seen a wand in the woman's hands. Not even at the Disunion. The matter of what she really was, however, did come as a surprise. The Tegii were spoken of very rarely among the wizarding world; so rarely in fact that many witches and wizards do not know of them. They exist purely to lay their empty eyes upon a soul. Most do not succeed.

"What your matron saw in the grounds was not a part of _productum intumesco_," Kalypto continued. "It was not created by Lee, nor predicted by any of us. The ancient texts tell us of connections between two people that are so deep that a fragment of their souls are embedded in the other."

Here Kalypto took a deep, rattling breath as though she was preparing herself to reveal something more terrible than they could imagine. Minerva and Dumbledore were silent, their attention fully focused on the masked woman before them. She turned her face to Minerva, and though Minerva could not see her eyes, she knew that Kalypto was looking right at her.

"The fragment of Albus Dumbledore's soul that has always survived in you was being pulled from you that night. Not the whole fragment, not enough to lose your connection to him, but a portion of it. It was torn out of you as matter – the transference forced it to take shape as the black substance your matron saw."

Kalypto's veiled head moved and she looked upon Dumbledore.

"The same happened to you. Your souls were performing an unnatural act. The pain must have been excruciating. But until now, I did not realise the full meaning of the transference.

"Your bodies were protecting your souls. It was a natural and subconscious defence; a small piece tore itself away from you both in order to save itself. If the fragments had not transferred, the Disunion would have destroyed them and your connection with it."

She addressed Dumbledore: "When you came to me to ask me to carry out the Disunion, the transference had already happened. A part of your soul that belonged to Professor McGonagall was in you now and could not be destroyed because it was yours.

"From then on the fragments have lived inadequately in a body they do not belong to. Since they transferred they have been trying to return to where they truly belong. The transference back would be a gradual and emotionally painful process. When Lee found me several months ago we realised this and began working on a way to speed the process up. That was what we did tonight." Kalypto paused and turned back to Minerva. "But there was one aspect we had not taken into consideration," she said.

"Touch," Minerva whispered.

"Touch," Kalypto echoed in her harsh voice. "It was not enough for you to simply be close to each other because a third person could disrupt the transference back. Touch was essential."

Kalypto fell silent. Dumbledore and Minerva could not speak. There was so much to process. The black substance Poppy had seen had been their souls transferring. It was all so overwhelming. Minerva found that her breath had quickened without her realising. The sensations she had had before, the feeling that something had been ripped painfully from her and then the terrible, endless void inside her – she could barely think of it. She felt violated. They had been stripped down to almost nothing; laid bare like playthings and exposed for Horendus' selfish means.

But there were still questions that remained unanswered, and after several silent minutes of thought, Dumbledore voiced the first.

"If only a portion of the fragment of my soul that resides in Minerva was transferred back to me, what has happened to the part that remained in her?" He spoke with difficulty, attempting to process with tremendous effort the words which Kalypto had spoken, whilst trying to remain composed.

"It was destroyed in the Disunion," Kalypto replied. "That is why you still do not feel as you did before _productum intumesco_."

"The part that was destroyed, the part kept us connected, is gone forever?" Minerva asked. It was the first full sentence she had spoken since Kalypto and Horendus arrived at the gates. Kalypto's veil moved as she looked at Minerva.

"It only matters that some of it was saved," she said scratchily. "That alone is enough to save your bond. The connection between you will re-grow. Your souls need to rebuild, to replenish themselves. It will come… with time."

There was another silence as the full effects of what Kalypto said sunk in. Their bond will re-grow. The elation Minerva felt in her stomach was such that she barely contained her pleasure. This sentence alone confirmed that the look in Dumbledore's eyes was not imagined. She had caught a glimpse of his emotion. His affection for her had returned – not completely, Kalypto said that it would take time – but it was happening; she had begun to feel it already. The void inside her was beginning to dwindle.

There was another question that needed asking, however, and this time it was Minerva who spoke.

"What did you mean before, when you said you had seen what he had not? 'Droplets of the Soul'?"

Kalypto did not speak at first, but when she did there was a poisonous note to her tone.

"Ever since Lee learned of the transference he became obsessed with finding a soul, collecting one. In the transference when it changes to black matter, Lee wanted to capture it. Study it. I simply wanted to see it. Only a Tegii can become enlightened by the vision of a soul. Unlike a wizard, they cannot interfere with it – they would not want to.

"When I put your hands together something happened that I believe, like before, you did not see. Your eyes were black, there was no colour to them. When your skin touched jet black droplets rose from your eyes and glided into the others'. You did not feel the pain as you had before – they were returning to their rightful place. That is what they are: _atra anima_: Droplets of the Soul."

Minerva turned to Dumbledore, astonished. What Kalypto was saying was so unbelievable, but it also made complete sense. Dumbledore was looking intently at Kalypto. Minerva saw him frown, then he voiced his thoughts:

"You are waiting to leave us, are you not?"

Kalypto's whole body turned in the direction of Dumbledore.

"I have seen the _atra anima_. It is my time to ascend. I can feel it inside me. But I was part of the cause of your pain. You needed to know why this has happened to you both."

"Thank you," Dumbledore said gently. "I am sure I speak for Minerva when I say that you have answered all we need to know."

Kalypto nodded, looking to both of them. Then, suddenly, she brought her hands to the bottom of her veil and in one swift motion she swept the cloth from her figure.

Minerva gasped and stood up from the desk. Kalypto's eyes, still pure white, were glowing as bright as moonlight. Her chest was heaving as she looked up and held out her arms as though praying to the heavens. The light from her eyes began to grow. It swelled around her body, enveloping it until it was too bright for Minerva to look at. She covered her eyes with her hand, still half-trying to see what was happening.

With a bright flash the room lit up, and then suddenly all the white light was swallowed into nothingness.

Minerva blinked. Her eyes were still adjusting to the sudden darkness. When the afterglow had faded only Dumbledore stood before her. Kalypto had vanished.

She was still processing all the information that had been revealed. Everything was so jumbled but also so clear in Minerva's mind. All this time since the aftermath of _productum intumesco _she had been holding a part of her soul that was not meant for her – it belonged to Dumbledore. Minerva's body had simply been protecting it during the events of the Disunion. Their bodies had been a step ahead without them even knowing it. A natural protection, Kalypto had said. The strain in her chest since the transference was obvious now. One part of her soul did not belong to her; it had wanted to return to Dumbledore, where it belonged.

Dumbledore and Minerva were in silence once again, staring at the space where Kalypto had stood only seconds ago. At some point, she could not recall when, Minerva had put down her cup of tea.

They were alone now and something stirred inside Minerva at the thought. It was a feeling not unfamiliar to her from the days before the Disunion.

"Albus," she said. But before she could continue he had walked the three strides it took to reach her. She felt his hand seize the back of her neck and his other her lower back as he pulled her towards him.

The familiarity of his lips against hers filled Minerva with a longing such as she had never known. She brought her hands up to his head, threading her fingers through his long hair and pulled him harder against her.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The fist against the office door was quiet at first, but grew louder the more impatient the knocker became.

Dumbledore's lips softened against Minerva's. He pulled away gently then kissed her nose. He looked at her with a tenderness she had not realised that she missed, and she noticed that the familiar twinkle had returned to his eyes.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Minerva felt his hand move from the back of her neck and he stroked her cheek with the back of his warm fingers.

Minerva's eyes prickled with tears, but this time they were as welcome as the feel of Dumbledore's body pressing against her.

"Hello," he said softly.

Minerva knew exactly what he meant. I was like seeing him again after a long absence; as though these past months had been spent with a stranger – with distance and detachment. Minerva smiled through her tears.

"Hello," she whispered.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Dumbledore moved his head down once again and Minerva met his lips. Their kiss was gentle this time and Minerva relished it with pleasure. His lips, his breath, the feel of his hands on her and his body against hers were all so wonderfully familiar but also so new, as though they were starting from the beginning.

"Dumbledore! Are you in there?" It was Slughorn. They knew why he had come – they were conspicuously late for dinner.


	39. Epilogue

**A/N:** Huge thanks to all those who have reviewed this story. I'll be going back over it at some point and tidying it up - especially the earlier parts as they relate to the later, but for now it's all over!

_**Epilogue**_

_November 1__st__ 1978_

Minerva stirred. She could feel something on her hip. Its presence was unusual but her sleepy eyes would not open. Perhaps it was her wand she thought hazily, then realised that she was not quite fully awake yet. As her consciousness began to return she noticed that she was lying on her side beneath sheets that were unfamiliar to her. They were not as coarse as her own, and their silky texture caressed her skin like liquid.

It was the first night she had spent with Dumbledore since Kalypto had vanished from his office three months ago. The evening had started off innocently enough. A lot of the time was spent in the Great Hall devouring the Halloween feast with the students and other members of staff. The staff had become decidedly warmer towards Dumbledore and Minerva in the recent months, the cause of which was probably the sudden change in the air between the Headmaster and his deputy. The coldness and indifference was gone, and their familiar friendly teasing and intelligent debates had replaced any previous awkwardness and formality.

After the feast the teachers had had a small party of their own – an unusual occurrence but one that was keenly welcomed by the staff of Hogwarts. Minerva on the other hand was inexplicably nervous. She had had a feeling about how the night was going to end and her stomach was annoyingly wriggly all night.

Minerva, thought back to the end of the party and Dumbledore's silent confidence as he led her back to his rooms instead of walking her to hers.

With her eyes still closed as she lay beneath the sleek sheets, she smiled. She knew she could still only feel a fraction of what she had felt for him before the Disunion, but it was enough to appreciate how deep her affection for him had really been in the end.

Her eyes flickered open slowly. It was dark in the bedroom but for a slither of deep grey light fracturing the blackness of the room through a break in the curtains. Minerva was facing away from the sleeping form beside her and knew now that it was Dumbledore's hand which rested on her hip; the rest of his body was at a distance from hers but she imagined he was facing the same way.

She smiled again. The night had been an introduction as well as a reminder to Minerva, just as she had felt when he had first kissed her in his office three months ago. The familiarity had blended with the sense that they were just beginning and left Minerva feeling equally relaxed and fascinated.

A deep and heavy breath suddenly filled the silence of the bedroom and Minerva felt the hand on her hip move a fraction higher. As gently as she could she turned under the sheets, moving onto her stomach first so that Dumbledore's hand slid round to her back.

As she twisted her body round to face him she saw him open his eyes. The dusty grey beam from the window was brightening quickly and his eyes glistened in the early morning light. His hand now rested on her other hip.

"Morning," he said in a voice deep and husky with sleep.

"Morning," Minerva replied, her voice equally hoarse.

"Can you see me?" Dumbledore asked.

Minerva frowned momentarily at the unexpected question. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark and the features of his face had become almost as visible as his eyes.

"Yes," she replied. "Why?"

"I love you, Minerva," he said deeply. "I can feel it returning."

Minerva's smile spoke her words for her. She could feel it too, and it would grow, just as Kalypto had said, to become as intense an emotion as it was before. She slid forwards and felt Dumbledore's hand slip around her waist to her back. She put her palm on his beard against his chest and pushed him onto his back. Her hair fell forward slightly as she looked down at him.

"Can you see me?" she asked.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied smiling...

-

In the Transfiguration classroom the scarab beetle stone floated several inches above the desk.

END.


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